


Second Floor Skeletons

by sansual



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Echotale (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Alternate Universes, Angst, College AU, Drinking, Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Ecto-Tongue (Undertale), Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, Harem, Multi, Musical References, Polyamory, Reader has a vagina, Reverse Harem, skeleton harem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:47:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 78,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22966426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansual/pseuds/sansual
Summary: When monumental events occur, people typically remember where they were when the event happened.When the barrier of Mount Ebott broke and the near-forgotten race of monsters emerged onto the Earth, you were taking a piss at a Christmas party.The next thing you know, your university is volunteering to use its extra vacancy to house as many of the country’s new immigrants as they can. Your once-sparse dorm hallway is now packed to the brim with monsters. Some are friendly. Some aren’t.But they’re all skeletons, and they’re all over the place. And all over you.
Relationships: G!Papyrus/Reader, G!Sans/Reader, Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Reader, Underfell Gaster/Reader, Underfell Papyrus/Reader, Underfell Sans/Reader, Underswap Gaster/Reader, Underswap Papyrus/Reader, Underswap Sans/Reader, W. D. Gaster/Reader
Comments: 93
Kudos: 318





	1. Welcome Back

**Author's Note:**

> It should be noted that this work was originally posted in November 2017 and was removed by Archive's mods for a content violation in February 2020. Even if you've read this work before, I'd greatly appreciate any comments and kudos you could leave to help restore the work to its former statistical glory. Thanks so much for reading.

_You could hardly flush the toilet before you heard the screams. They came from the living room, sudden, sharp, sounding through the entire house. What was going on? Was someone hurt? You struggled to pull your ugly sweater down and get out the door fast enough without busting your ass. You were normally more hygienic, but for the time being, fuck the hand washing. The screams turned to scattered gasps and noises of incredulity. Whatever it was, it was real. Really good or really bad._

_You nearly skidded on your socks on the way into the living room. Your friends could be found crowding the leather sofa and fixated on the television. It hadn’t been on when you went to the bathroom, but now it was turned to the news. You couldn’t see but a corner of the screen. What was so damn important everyone was screaming? Was it war? Your country always seemed to be on the verge of war, especially lately, what with that asshat in charge and all. It had to be something violent, something dreadful, with the way that your friends that had been calm three minutes ago were now hectic._

_The host of the party was next to you, but he was tall enough to see. When you glanced up at him for some clue or information, he only breathed, “…Are they real?”_

_“They’re real,” Jade, your roommate, called from her prime spot on the couch. “I just ran a check, it’s all over every news network.”_

_“Shit,” he said back, and when he moved away from the sofa you wedged yourself into a better spot._

_And then you saw the headline._

_And you swear you’d never been more breathless._

_A week and a half later that statement from your university came, and it went viral. Well, you knew you were in a progressive place, but this was something else! You got the same e-mail that the rest of the students and teachers did. This acommodation was only to be in effect until citizenship was granted to the monsters and they could purchase their own homes, it explained. Classes were to be delayed another two weeks to give the new campus residents time to settle in and adjust before any students returned, and you thought that was reasonable enough, though your anxiety gnawed at the back of your mind. They’d remember not to give your room away, wouldn’t they? Of course they would. But what if they really needed the room? Well, they never promised housing to_ all _of the monsters, right? Right. Things would just be a little… crowded. And you were okay with that. Hell, you got an extended break out of it._

_All breaks have endings, though. And yours ends now._

“Are you ready for this?” Jade asks as she pulls a suitcase from your car. Her black hair flips over her shoulder when she turns to face you. 

“Hell yeah.” You grab your duffel bag, your book-bag, and your purse all at once. Two trips are for the weak. Together, you walk from your car to the elevator of the parking garage. It’s rickety, and there was a rumor back in September that it dropped some people two floors down, but you never quite confirmed that. The light’s flickering when you step inside, but you never scared easily anyway. Jade, however… 

“I’m surprised you’re so calm about this,” she says, “I mean, you saw them. We could have a _goat_ for a neighbor!” Yeah, she’s a little finicky. 

“Goats are cute,” you remark. “Besides, you saw the reports. They’re not violent unless provoked. Just like us.” 

The elevator lets you out at the ground floor, and all you have to do is cross a street before you’re back at your dorm building. Well, it doesn’t _look_ much different from the outside. There may be a few more sets of curtains in some of the windows, but that’s about it. 

“See?” You tell Jade as you hold the door for her. “It’s still the same place. Still home. Still safe.” The two of you walk past the front desk, waving to the RA on-duty. Danny’s not in charge of your floor, but you’ve got a few classes with him, so you know him. He's a bit jumpier than normal, but you try to be understanding, given the circumstances. Wow, these circumstances. You’re not opposed to everything going on one bit, but you gotta admit, this shit’s crazy.

You _do_ hope your roommate will lighten up a little. Jade doesn’t look like the uptight type, but that’s just further proof that she’s full of surprises. She cuts her hair into its choppy bob all herself, and she’s never failed to wear some crystal or another around her neck. One look at her menagerie of a closet exposes both her thrift store and designer shopping habits. And you’ve never been too much into birds, but she absolutely loves them, like you’d love cats or dogs. She told you from the start that she grew up more conservative than you could ever imagine, and now you’re starting to believe her. She hasn’t stopped freaking out about the monsters since that night at the Christmas party three weeks ago. You even volunteered to drive the both of you here earlier than everyone else to ease her anxiety, and hopefully her chances of sensory overload.

It’s about 6 in the morning now, and the elevator’s empty. She presses the button for the second floor as you prop your bags against the wall.

“I feel kinda douchey every time I get in here and press 2,” she sighs, “I was on 7 last year and I just hated those kinds of people with every fibre of my being.”

“Well, we’ve got a shit-ton of bags,” you reply. “They can’t expect us to haul all this up a big-ass flight of stairs.” 

The elevator doors are closing when you spot a bright, brilliant flash of blue light in the lobby. Suddenly, the light’s in the elevator. You and Jade can only glance at each other before the light materializes into something- no, someone. You’re no longer alone. 

You hear him before you see him. Boy, he’s loud. “OH, I ALMOST MISSED THE ELEVATOR! I WAS WALKING UP AND I SAW IT CLOSING AND I SAW POTENTIAL NEW FRIENDS INSIDE AND I JUST _KNEW_ I HAD TO CATCH IT!” He’s a pure skeleton, from head to toe. The newcomer stands at about 5 feet in height, and is covered head-to-toe in baby blue. Gentle cerulean stars sparkle in his eye sockets as he fidgets with the cloth edges of his gloves. It’s your first encounter with a monster, and you’re honestly too awed from his _sheer fucking adorableness_ to be nervous. 

“Oh my god,” Jade whispers from next to you. None of you can get anything else in before the elevator stops at the second floor. 

You’re starting to gather up your plethora of luggage, but the tiny skeleton stops you. “HOLD ON WAIT STOP PLEASE! LET THE MAGNIFICENT BLUEBERRY HELP YOU!” So, his name’s Blueberry. How… fitting. Without waiting for a reply, he grabs your biggest and heaviest suitcase, and you’re about to tell him to be careful, but he effortlessly pulls it away from the elevator bank. “WHERE IS YOUR ROOM? MINE IS 228! MY FRIENDS ARE ALL ON THIS HALLWAY! ALSO GOOD MORNING, BECAUSE IT IS VERY EARLY AND IT IS A VERY BEAUTIFUL DAY! ALSO YOU ARE ALSO PRETTY LIKE THE MORNING!” 

“My room is 225, and I’m _____,” you reply. Jade is already on her way down the hallway, and you start to follow her. 

“_____?” Blueberry clarifies. “THAT IS A PERFECT NAME FOR A PERFECT _____!” That didn’t quite make sense but dear sweet Jesus he’s adorable. Without further hesitation, he hauls your suitcase to the door of room 225. His room is across the hall and two doors down, you notice. 

You catch up to Jade, who’s digging for her keys. Yours are deep within the black hole that is your purse, and she’s already looking, so you opt to just wait on her.

“So, Blueberry,” you ask, “how many of your friends are staying here? Like on this floor? You mentioned them a minute ago and I just wanted to know.” Jade sighs, and you know it’ll prompt another rant from him, but you genuinely are curious. Who cares how eager she is to be by herself?

“OH!” He starts. “WELL THERE’S MY BROTHER, STRETCH, AND THEN THERE’S SANS, AND THEN… OH, I LOSE COUNT A LOT!”

“It’s okay,” you ease, “Can you give me an approximation? Like a guess on how many?”

But then he exclaims, “OH, WAIT, I HAVE A BETTER IDEA!” And before you know it, Blueberry is moving those little bony legs and running down the hallway. “GUYS, EVERYBODY, YOU NEED TO COME OUT IN THE HALLWAY RIGHT NOW! I MADE OUR FIRST HUMAN FRIENDS!” Oh, is he really waking everyone up this early? Or do all monsters get up early? Or is that a stupid thing to wonder? You watch him speed back to you after his sprint.

“DO NOT DESPAIR OVER NUMBERS! THEY WILL BE HERE IN A MOMENT, _____ AND OTHER NEW HUMAN FRIEND!”

“Jade,” your roommate quietly interjects just before she jams her key into the door and enters. “_____, are you gonna…” she trails off, glancing from you to the open door. 

“I’ll be in in a minute,” you reply, and as soon as you finish waving her off she shuts the door. 

When one door closes, several others open. 

And you mean that quite literally. Within seconds, many of the doors down your hallway on the second floor open, and their occupants step out. They’re skeletons, each and every one of them. And they all have their eyes on you.

  



	2. The Introduction Puzzle

  


“So this is all of you?” You ask the skeletons in your hallway. There’s ten of them in all, you count, and they stand in pairs by their respective doorways. Blueberry’s just pulled you down the whole hall to give quick introductions, but your brain’s just about frazzled from it all. Are there really ten? Has it always been ten?

“Actually, _____, it isn’t,” one of the taller ones in the threshold of 232 corrects you. He’s wearing a long black coat, and his skull is marred by two scar-like cracks. What was his name? Faster? No, that sounds like an innuendo. Fuck. He’s talking again now. “There is, in fact, another skeleton on the floor, but he simply… failed to respond to dear Blueberry’s call. It’s not the least bit surprising. I do suppose that the two of you will cross paths eventually. For now, though, savor the time leading up to that.” 

“Why?” You dare to ask Gaster- oh, shit, that’s his name, it’s Gaster!

His voice is smooth and deep, soothing and melodic, like dripping dark chocolate. “He’s a bit… oh, ‘unsavory’ is a bit too bland of a term for him. Dings, do you have anything better?”

“Try abhorrent, wicked, repugnant, malicious, conniving, pernicious… I could go on.” The tall monster next to Gaster could possibly be his twin, scars and all. Other than the differently-colored eyes and wardrobe change for the brighter, there don’t seem to be any cosmetic differences between Gaster and Dings, his roommate. Dings’s voice is a bit higher-pitched and optimistic, but it still carries the same refined cadence. “Altogether, he’s simply an anathema.” 

“And where does this ‘anathema’ live?” You ask, crossing your arms and arching an eyebrow.

“You may call him Wings, and he lives at the end of the hall, in 236, and I do believe the reason he has that room all to himself is because he’s simply too toxic to be around,” Dings replies, adding a quiet, “But that’s none of my business.” When he catches your alarmed gaze he smiles, seemingly pleased that you heard him.

“Oh,” is all you can say. There’s a moment of silence where all ten of the skeletons simply stare at you and you’re too flustered to find just one to stare at. You hate to admit it, but you kind of like looking at them. It’s not that they’re attractive, it’s just that they’re… okay, well, attractive. 

You don’t know how long it is before one of them speaks up. It’s Papyrus, the taller one out of the two that live directly across from you in 226. “I HAVE AN IDEA!” 

“what is it, bro?” His brother asks. “whatever it is, i’m sure it’s great like you.” He looks like Blueberry, except his clothes are a darker blue. His voice is but a deadpan in retrospect, but it’s so casual that you like the sound of it. You also like the way he smiles at his brother. That’s really fucking cute. Now, what was his name? 

“TO ENSURE THAT OUR NEW FRIEND THE HUMAN _____ KNOWS US ALL INDIVIDUALLY, I PROPOSE…” Oh, Papyrus is nearly jumping up and down with excitement. You watch his strong leg-bones threaten to launch him into the ceiling. He just nearly squeals, “A PUZZLE!” A what? To do what?

Now _this_ gets everyone’s attention. The other nine skeletons simultaneously turn their heads to fix Papyrus with similar anticipated expressions. Wait, are they serious? Are they seriously all into puzzles? And are they going to make you solve one?! The fuck? They can’t be serious.

They’re serious, they’re in silent agreement, and they’re fast. There’s blurs of bones and fabric, and you honestly lose your focus for a bit. Before you know it, though, the monsters have scrambled themselves into a singular line down the hallway. 

“THE RULES ARE INCREDIBLY FUCKING SIMPLE, SO YOU SHOULD UNDERSTAND THEM IF YOU’RE NOT A BUMBLING IDIOT!” The tall one with the spiked armor shouts. He hasn’t uttered one nice thing since exiting his room. You’re not sure if you like him or not. “WE HAVE REARRANGED OURSELVES IN A COMPLETELY RANDOM ORDER. AS YOU ADDRESS EACH ONE OF US, YOU ARE TO IDENTIFY US BY NAME, WHICH ROOM WE LIVE IN, AND WITH WHOM WE LIVE . IS THAT SIMPLE ENOUGH, CRETIN, OR DO I NEED TO DUMB IT DOWN EVEN MORE THAN I ALREADY HAVE?” Yeah, he’s not getting any brownie points.

“Yeah, I got it,” you shoot back. “I’m no dumbass, I assure you.” You’re not arrogant, and you’re not trying to be, but you’re not up for taking his insults like that. You’re not stupid, you just… don’t have the best memory… and this is a memory puzzle. 

Fuck.

Luckily, Blueberry is at the end of the line, so you begin with him. The stars in his eye sockets almost want to pop from his skull, they’re so big and bright. “_____, WHO AM I?” 

Oh, he’s so precious. Any annoyance in your tone just evaporates when you talk to him. “Well, your name is Blueberry, and you live over in 228, with…” you shoot a glance at the row of skeletons until you find the one you’re looking for, and you point to him, “with Stretch, your brother.”

However, you’re not prepared for the bony arms that sling around your neck and the small skeleton now assailing you with a hug. “YOU GOT IT YOU DID IT YOU GOT IT RIGHT! YOU DID IT ALL ON THE FIRST TRY! YOU’RE SO SMART, HUMAN _____!” 

That gives you the determination you need to move on to the next skeleton. He’s another short one, with a gold tooth in his wry grin. Before you can even fully reach him, he’s eyeing you up and down.

“Come on, doll,” he drawls with a thick twang, “what’s my name? It won’t be the last time you’ll be saying it.” Ugh, can he get any more cocky? You see the way his black shorts are hanging at his hipbones, and that devious spark in his left eye. You can’t quite remember his name right now, but you know he’s somewhat like Blueberry, except he’s dressed head-to-toe in…

“Red!” You exclaim.

“Yeah, just like that, baby girl,” he nods, and to your surprise, a bright red tongue emerges from his jaws. It’s long and just a bit pointed, and it slides along his teeth ever-so-slowly. “Keep going.” 

Despite how sheerly scummy he’s being, you feel… amused? Impressed? Something mildly good? “And you’re living in 229 with your brother, he’s over there in all the spikes and studs looking all edgy and- oh shit, right, his name’s Edge.” Oh, you just barely got that one. Fuck. It’s only the second one, and you’re getting too close for comfort with your guessing skills. On the bright side, the further you get through the puzzle, the easier it will be to match skeletons to their roommates. So you don’t even wait for Red’s attempt to congratulate you before moving along.

You guess Papyrus correctly, and barely manage to name his brother, Sans, who has coincidentally managed to be standing next to him. Did he even move when the line formed? Oh well. So that’s two more down, and with four out of ten skeletons identified, you’re nearly halfway done. 

The next one… Oh, the next one. “You’re… you’re… quiet,” is all you can utter. He’s one of the taller ones, but he’s not quite as tall as Gaster, who stands at about 7 feet in height. This one’s taller than Papyrus, though, and looks a bit like him… Fuck, what’s his name though? He offers nothing to you but a gentle smile, his skeletal hands at his sides. They gather and grip at the sleeves of his sweater, which is a lovely emerald green. He doesn’t say a word, but instead opts to look down. You’re quiet for a moment as you wrack your brain, watching him stand there and fidget with the sleeves of that pretty green sweater. It’s made with a thick-knit and the turtleneck seems to flatter him and it’s just _such_ a beautiful shade of green and _oh fuck he’s trying to help you_. 

“You’re Green,” you breathe, and the instant you utter it, he stops playing with his sleeves. “You’re Green and you're in 230 with your brother, G.” G’s easy to remember, as it’s just a letter, and it’s not like you could forget him, anyway. He stands a few people down the line, smirking at you expectantly as your finger finds him. The skeleton across from you heaves a sigh of relief, gives you a nod, and lets you move on.

The next one is considerably easy to name, considering the earlier conversation you had with him and his roommate. Simple. It’s a fucking freebie at this point. You rattle off, “You can’t stump me. You’re in 232 with Dings, and I’m not sure if he’s your brother but you seem to get along pretty well. You’re the easiest out of all of them, Faster."

It doesn’t occur to you what the fuck you just said until you’ve pivoted to keep walking. Shit, shit, shit, you fucked up. In one swift move you attempt to turn back to him and recover.

“No, fuck, that’s not what I meant, it’s Gaster, you’re Gaster, you’re not Faster and I didn’t mean to call you easy and—“ you’re cut off by the sound of the skeleton in front of you chuckling. It’s a pretty sound, low enough to be quiet but still melodic and alluring.

“Oh, _____, I understand _completely_.” There’s that intelligent smirk on his opalescent face, and you’re beginning to think all these skeletons are cocky in one way or another. “Move along, now, and you might want to go a bit _faster_.” 

You do as he says, but your cheeks can’t stop burning. Oh, and look who’s next.

“YOU SIMPLE HUMAN! I DOUBT YOU WILL BE ABLE TO CORRECTLY IDENTIFY _ME_ , THE TERRIBLE—“

“Edge, 229, with Red, your bro,” you deadpan before turning on your heel and moving along before he can utter anything else. You’re just a little bit done with his shit.

G is next. He’s propped against the wall, the leather of his jacket proposing a contrast to the eggshell color of the paint-job. “Shouldn’t be too hard for you, kitten. You’re plenty smart, and pretty, too.” 

Oh, that did _not_ make you blush. You just fucking met him, he shouldn’t be making you blush. 

“Say my name, pretty.” His eyelids go low. 

“G.” You enunciate it clearly, slowly, like it’s something refreshing and new. “You’re with Green in room 230, right?”

“Right, right, exactly right,” he rasps, and before you know it, he’s gripping one of your hands and daring to plant a kiss on it. You don’t know how in the world he can press his teeth to your skin and make it feel just like a normal kiss, but he does. And your skin is left _buzzing_. _Oh Christ on a unicycle_. 

It’s all you can do to not lose your shit as you go through Dings easily. You don’t mess up like you did with his roommate, though, and he sends you on your way with an wide, easy smile.

“Hello, Stretch,” you say when you reach the next skeleton. His hands are in his orange hoodie pocket, and he has a cigarette propped loosely between his teeth. 

“_____,” he says over the cigarette. You never liked smoking, not after your mother got lung cancer. It’s just past a pet peeve at this point. If you’re going to be friends with him, it’ll have to go. If he wants to be friends with you. He’s so hard to read, one of the hardest out of anyone you’ve ever met, man or monster.

He eyes you with scrutiny. 

You eye him right back. “228, with Blueberry.” 

“You got me, honey,” he sighs with a smile. It’s a crooked smile, but you like it. It goes well with his rasp of a voice. “Guess that’s a good thing.”

“I’d say so,” you reply. “You know what’s not, though?”

In response, he arches an eyebrow, but that’s all the invitation you need. With a quick move of your arm, you take that cigarette between your fingers and pull it straight from Stretch’s teeth. It comes quickly, but you still catch that quiet hitching of his breath. 

“It’ll kill you. Please take care of yourself, Stretch,” you say with a small smile. He gives you one back, and you feel something within you flutter. Oh, you like that. 

And you like that you’ve gone through a total of ten out of ten skeletons today. “I win!” You announce, jumping into the air. “I know all of you! At least the basics!”

You’re listening to the scattered noises of the skeletons’ congratulations when you hear it. It’s like the creaking of wood, or the lowest strings of a bass violin. Smooth, but rough at the same time. Beautiful and hideous all in one. Sugary-sweet but oh-so-bitter. Wretched but addictive. It’s unmistakeable, and it’s behind you, right in your ear.

“Not all of us.” 

When you turn, all you see is the last door in the hallway clicking shut.

  



	3. Consensus

  


You’re out there for a few more moments, talking with your new friends in a circle in the hallway with your hand propped against your door. None of them seemed to have noticed the brief appearance of who you assume to be Wings, the eleventh skeleton. You never actually _saw_ him, but you’re sure you _heard_ him, and he just seemed _so close_ to you. You shiver as you recall the way your entire body froze up at the wisp of his voice. Nevertheless, you brush the event off, or at least push it to the back of your mind to worry over when you’re alone later. 

“Ahem.” Gaster’s voice knocks you out of your thoughts. “While I do enjoy spending my valuable time loitering out here in this hallway, I do believe that we need to adjourn for the time being.” 

“BUT WHY?” Blueberry objects. “WE HAVE THE WHOLE DAY TO SPEND WITH _____!” He pouts at Gaster (though you’re not sure how he manages that, being a skeleton and all) and squirms unhappily in his spot. 

Stretch is quick to place a bony hand on his brother’s shoulder. He gazes down at him, tone calm. “blue, listen. i know you wanna spend time with _____, i’m pretty sure we all do. but you gotta understand that she just got back from vacation, and she’s been gone from her room for weeks. you know how i get when i’m out of my room for a while, right?”

Blueberry’s nodding in affirmation while you’re marveling over how gentle Stretch is being with him. Everyone’s extra nice to him, you notice, except for Edge, who isn’t nice to anyone.

“so we gotta give her a break, okay? even if we’re all having fun, and even if _____’s having fun too.” He stops to cast you a pressured look, flicking his eyes over to Blueberry as he holds his grimace. Oh, you’re supposed to say something.

“Yeah, I’m having lots of fun now!” You exclaim, and that’s not even a lie, but it feels forced under Stretch’s gaze. “But he’s right; I _would_ like to get back in my room for a bit.”

“OH…” Blueberry sighs finally, managing a soft smile. “I SEE.”

“It’s okay,” you reach to put a hand on his back, watching Stretch’s protective hold on him. “We can hang out some time later today!” 

Papyrus takes this moment to chime in. “AND WE CAN GIVE YOU OUR CELL PHONE NUMBERS SO THAT WE CAN STILL COMMUNICATE!” 

“Oh!” You didn’t even know they had cell phones. Nevertheless, you take yours out of your pocket and open your contacts. Blueberry and Papyrus are the first to give you their numbers, followed by Stretch, Sans, and G. You give them yours as well.

When you get to Green, he says, “I must admit that I strongly prefer calling to texting.” 

“That’s fine. Put it in anyway.” With a smile you hand him your phone. 

“I just didn’t want to disappoint you,” he says, eyes on your phone. Now that you think about it, he hasn’t looked you square in the eyes once. Is he nervous? He’s awfully quiet, and he hasn’t contributed much to any of the conversation you’d all had together.

You say, “Disappoint me? You never could, Green.” 

“Oh,” is all he says, and when he hands you your phone back you swear there’s a faint green blush across his face. 

“Gaster,” you singsong when you reach the tall skeleton. His name is nice to say, you think. “Put your number in!”

He heaves a long, tired sigh. “Must I?” He’s eyeing your device as if it’s a baggie of crystal meth. “I don’t see why it would be necessary for you to—“

“Gaaaaasterrrrrr,” you whine. “Please? What if something important comes up and I need to call you?” 

“Fine,” he says finally, taking your phone from you. “But for emergencies _only_ , do you understand?” 

You chuckle, “Yes, _dad_ ,” and watch his face flush violet. You, as well as Red, Sans, Dings, G, and Stretch erupt into fits of laughter. Without waiting for more of a reaction, you take the phone back from Gaster and move to hand it to the next monster. It turns out, though, that you’d rather not.

“I DON’T WANT YOUR STUPID NUMBER,” Edge huffs. “I WOULD NEVER TEXT YOU.” 

“Good,” you snap back, “I’d leave you on read anyway.” 

“i’d rather _you_ be _on red_ ,” interjects Red, and before you know it, your phone is in his hands. God, you’re never texting him. “aaaand let me see yours real quick, doll,” he smirks, tapping away at your screen. You reach to take it, but he steps just out of reach. “don’t want you to worry about texting first, babe. unless you just can’t wait.” Okay, you’re just never replying to him. You get your phone back and distance yourself as much as you can. Jeez. 

You’re exhausted by the time you can hand your phone to Dings. Thank stars Stretch suggested you get a break. Jade’s probably expecting you in, anyway. 

“_____, I’m putting both my phone number and my email into your contacts. You can typically reach me one way or another. Feel free to, anytime you need anything at all, and I’ll be there.” 

“Oh,” you smile, surprised by the extent of his kindness. “Thank you, Dings. I appreciate that.” 

“I appreciate _you_ ,” he shoots back, and hands you your phone with a confident grin. 

Why in the world did that make you blush? _How_ do these skeletons know just how to make you flustered? “Thank you,” you stammer, and turn to head back down the hallway. 

You’re praying none of them see just how red your face is. Just a little further, just a little further and you’ll be at your room and you can go in and— 

“_____, I DO BELIEVE THAT YOU’RE BLUSHING!” 

Fucking shit, Papyrus. You flush even worse when he points it out.

“No I’m not,” you stammer, “it’s just hot in here!” Finding your door handle, you pick up your bags by the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go in my room and try and rest and get that break that I need because I need it very bad and you can all have your break and I will just see you later and—“

“_____,” someone calls, and when you turn it’s Sans. He’s got the most shit-eating grin on his skull. “have a good time. and _rest_ assured, you look a- _door_ -able like that.” 

You’ve never opened and shut a door faster than you do in that moment.

Jade’s already unpacked when you come in. She’s now in a pair of fuzzy pajama pants and situated in her bed with her laptop. You move your stuff onto your side of the room and climb up to your bed. It’s lofted about five feet off of the carpet, and to get up there you need to jump onto your desk first. You don’t mind, though. You like it like this. The curtained nest of pillows and blankets you get to have underneath your bed-space is worth it. 

“So,” she starts, not even looking up, “how many were there?”

“Eleven, I think,” you reply, and before you can even breathe afterward she’s gasping.

“Eleven?!” Now she shoots her head up at you. “Eleven of just them?! On just this floor?! Are you sure?!” 

“Yes,” you nod, “there’s eleven skeletons on this floor. And I think nine of them are nice.”

“So you’re saying I’ve got _two_ asshole skeletons to watch out for? And nine more that could _possibly_ be assholes?”

“They’re nice, though,” you reply. “A lot of them are rooming with their brothers. They all seem pretty close, though. I gave them my number. Well, most of them.”

“Oh,” is all she says. Guess you’re not getting anything positive out of her.

Sighing, you lay back onto your bed with your eyes on the popcorn ceiling. When you were younger, you’d stand on your bed, reaching up to brush the texture. Powder from the ceiling would always rain down on you, though, but it’s not like you cared much. You have the urge to touch it again now, just for nostalgia’s sake. Spacing out, you’re completely unaware of the conversation taking place right across the hall.

Gaster’s pressing his skeletal hands to his temples and using every inch of his willpower to simply block out all of the noise. Nine other skeletons are crowded around the coffee table of his and Dings’ dorm room, and while he appreciates their presence and cooperation, _stars_ , they just won’t hush! The doctor _would_ say something, but he fears that if he speaks now he’ll lash out. And that would solve approximately _nothing_. He looks to his newly-acquired roommate with tired sockets. 

Fortunately, Dings takes the hint. Clearing his throat, he says, “Gaster and I would like your attention, please! This conversation won’t be of any use unless we can all take turns and cooperate. Can we all listen to one another and have a friendly, fun discussion?” 

Somehow, the group listens to him, quieting down instantly. He always presents things in a kinder, more lighthearted manner. Though Gaster believes that there’s a certain time and place for that kind of atmosphere (and that the aforementioned time and place is typically _not now_ and _not here_ ), he appreciates it now. 

With everyone’s eyes now on him, he props himself on the metal desk chair that came with the room. “I imagine that, after that eventful meeting with _____, everyone has their own thoughts about her. However, before any of us even _begin_ to pursue any type of relationship with her beyond acquaintanceship, we need to set these thoughts straight and validate them.”

Sans raises his hand. “well I _think_ i wanna go back to sleep. does that count?” 

“YOU LAZYBONES!” Papyrus exclaims, gently clapping his brother on the back. “HE MEANT ANY THOUGHTS PERTAINING TO _____!” 

“i know what he means,” Red chimes in, “cause _____'s a fuckin’ _dream_.” 

“No need to _sleep_ on that,” G quips, “Think I want her on my _mattress_ ,” and then some obscure, irate nerve within Gaster twitches. He knows he needs to intervene before this gets any worse. 

“Excuse me,” He announces, “can we return to the subject at hand?”

Red shrugs. “i dunno what more you want, gast. you want us to talk about _____, we’re talkin’ about _____.” 

Oh, that crimson-clad nuisance! If Gaster had hair, he’d yank it out by the palmful. If he had no dignity, he’d scream and throw the glass coffee table out of the dorm window and onto the pavement below. _That’s_ how exhausted he is, _that’s_ how much they’re all testing him, _that’s_ how close he is to losing it. Oh, he is _so ridiculously close_. 

“GASTER,” Blueberry calls from his criss-cross position beside Stretch, “WHY ARE YOUR FISTS SO TIGHT? ALSO, WHY ARE YOUR HANDS IN FISTS?” 

He can’t afford to scream at Blueberry, not with Stretch right there, so Gaster settles himself. Takes one breath, then two, then three. Prepares himself to speak, but Dings actually beats him to it.

“Shall we try a different approach?” The tall skeleton asks. “Let’s express our opinions without being too… _explicit_.” Here, he nods to both Blueberry and Papyrus, who sit with eager smiles. “Any and all who are experiencing even the slightest attraction to _____, please raise your hand now.” 

However, no one in the room is prepared for ten skeletal hands raising unanimously into the air.

  



	4. Chaos

  


Stretch finds himself with a headache by the time he reaches his room. He tries hard to cooperate with anyone, he really does, even if it doesn’t look like he tries to do _anything_. But then there’s everyone, like actually everyone, all ten of them. That’s an issue in itself. And then there’s the noise. The talking. The bickering. The fidgeting, stars, almost _everyone_ fidgets constantly! It’s everything, and before too long, he just can’t take it.

He prefers to be alone most times, or with Blueberry, or even with just two or three of the others. But all ten of the skeletons, in the same close proximity to him, at the same time? Haaaa, fuck no. Somehow he just managed to slip away from the discussion early, and slink out Gaster’s door so that it hardly even clicked when it shut. Now _that’s_ stealth. He slumps against his door for just a moment, just to breathe. There’s one more cigarette in his pocket, and he knows that _____ doesn’t like it, but she’s not here, and honestly, after what he’s just endured, what’s one more?

He puts it in between his teeth. There’s a tiny blue lighter in the pocket of his sweatpants, and he flicks it a couple times before it works. Ah, that’s better. The smoke curls out of his jaw and into the air in light grey wisps.

Inhale. 

This is nice.

Exhale. 

“Hey.” 

_“Fuck!”_ Stretch jumps at the sudden rasp of a voice at his ear. The cigarette goes flying, flipping into the air with scattering ashes. He whips around to see who the perpetrator is and comes skull-to-skull with a leather-clad skeleton. “Fucking shit, G!” 

“Sorry,” the offending skeleton shrugs. 

Stretch heaves a sigh. “It’s fine.” His cigarette’s on the ground, put out by the carpet. That might leave a burn mark. Shit. He picks it up, makes sure it’s snuffed out, and flicks it into the nearby trash can.

“I got a spare,” G says, fishing in his pocket and pulling out two cigarettes. “Saw you making a break for it and was… inspired.” 

“You got sensory overload too?” And out comes the blue lighter again. He’s running out of juice.

“Nah,” G shrugs, “I just didn’t wanna be there.” The two cough out dry laughter, shaking with cigarettes in their phalanges. 

Stretch supposes that, out of all the skeletons, G is one of the more-bearable ones. He’s a bit pretentious, obviously, with a flair for the dramatic, but all-around he’s a good guy. Smart, too. An old soul with a new style. Nah, he’s not that bad.

“Were they still talking when you left?”

“Yeah,” G sighs, “they were on the topic of how often it was acceptable to text and socialize with _____…”

“Jeez,”

“I know, right?” He adjusts the collar on his leather jacket, shaking his head. “This whole thing is getting a bit ridiculous, if you ask me. Why can’t we just let her be her and then whoever gets her interests, gets it, y’know?”

“Yeah.” Stretch nods, “How’s Blue faring in there? It can be a fuckin’ madhouse when it’s everybody all at once.” 

“He’s fine. Always a valued contributor to the conversation.” 

And speak of the devil, because the door to Dings' and Gaster’s room practically slams open, and Blueberry all but flies out into the hallway. He comes running towards G and Stretch, who are rushing to put out their cigarettes. They just lit them, but they’d hate for the group’s most innocent skeleton to catch them smoking. Especially after _____ condemned it. Fuck.

“BROTHER! G!” Blueberry calls, reaching them just as the cigarettes make it under the pair’s shoes. “YOU’RE BOTH NEEDED BACK IN THE DISCUSSION ROOM!”

Stretch sighs. Again? He just got out here. He didn’t even get to finish a cigarette. Stars, his head still hurts. Nevertheless, though, he manages a smile for his brother. Only for his brother. “What’s going on now, Baby Blue?” 

“WE’RE DEBATING ON WHO GETS TO TEXT THE HUMAN _____ FIRST! RED AND DINGS AND GASTER INSISTED THAT I NOT BOTHER YOU BUT I CONSIDERED THAT EVEN IF I WERE BOTHERING YOU MAYBE THIS WOULD BE AN IMPORTANT THING TO BOTHER YOU ABOUT!” Blueberry’s waving his arms excitedly as he gestures left and right. Stretch’s grin is real now. His brother’s so awesome.

“Let me get this straight,” G says, propping an elbow against the wall. “You’re _arguing_. Over who can _talk to _____ first_.”

“YES!”

“Holy shit."

“LANGUAGE!” 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Stretch interrupts the tiny exchange between the two. “So they said you didn’t need to bother us for this? Gaster and Dings?”

“AND RED!”

And Red? Stretch never knew Red to care much for anyone’s well-being, except when his brother or some floozy was involved. Why would he insist that Blueberry not drag Stretch and G back into the room for a discussion about- Oh. Oh fuck. That fucking _asshole_. Of course he would.

Stretch swore that he wouldn’t be coming back into that hellhole of a discussion, but yet, here he comes again, barreling into the door, face-to-face with chaos. God, the _noise_.

He feels bad for Gaster, though. The poor doctor looks completely and utterly strapped for patience. His fingers are nearly cemented to his temples, and he’s about huddled into a corner of the room. He’s just so fucking _tired_. Everyone else, though…

“i saw her _first_!”

“NO YOU FUCKING DIDN’T, RED, YOU DUMB WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT! YOU OBVIOUSLY SAW HER DIRECTLY AFTER I DID!” 

“BUT I WAS THE FIRST TO PROPERLY INTRODUCE MYSELF,” Papyrus butts in, “AND I DO BELIEVE THAT I WAS THE FIRST TO STEP OUT OF MY ROOM, SO THERE IS NO WAY THAT YOU SAW HER FIRST!”

A knife flies across the room, but the tall skeleton intercepts it with a throw pillow. Stretch isn’t sure whose pillow now has a dagger imbedded in it, but he knows they’re not happy. He backs himself against the wall, taking Blueberry by the wrist. No knives will be flying into his brother, not now, not ever.

“hey, edge. try to hurt my bro again and you’ll be meetin' the _edge_ of your own knife. understand?” Oh shit, Sans’ sockets are black. That’s never good.

Nevertheless, G still thinks it’s rational to step in. “I want a part of this! Did you think you could start this bullshit while I’m not here?”

“you always fuckin’ bail,” Red barks at him. “and it’s not like you were gonna get any ass anyway!”

“More than you were!” G barks back, “She actually _liked_ me, asshole!”

“oh, fuck you!” The short skeleton yells. With a wave of red magic, Dings’ desk chair goes flinging across the room. It lands with a bang. G barely dodges it, but his eyes light up with golden fury.

“Can we _please_ refrain from violence?” Dings calls out into the room. 

“CAN YOU REFRAIN FROM BEING A PATHETIC CUNT?” 

“Edge, that’s hardly appropriate,” Dings shoots back. “Control yourself please.”

“don’t you fuckin’ tell him what to do, you uppity merry-happy motherfucker!” 

Dings scoffs at Red. “Oh, I’m hardly-“

**”Enough.”**

Gaster’s voice booms in sudden outrage and blocks out any other noise. It reverberates through the room, lingering, leaving everyone frozen in place. His eyes are bursting with a violent, intense purple. The hostile stare isn’t directed at anyone in particular, and yet it reaches everyone at once. Slowly, but surely, all of the skeletons’ postures ease. Arms lower to sides. Sneers soften. Magic energy relaxes and dissipates. All that is left are nine sets of eyes fixated on Gaster.

“Thank you,” the doctor says, voice settling to its normal timbre. “This is getting out of hand at quite a rapid pace. It’s becoming a nuisance very quickly, and frankly, I have no tolerance for this sort of chaos.” 

“I agree,” Green nods from his spot in the corner of the room, away from the fight’s proximity. Stretch notices that he hasn’t spoken in any of the conversation regarding you. Does he not care? Then again, though, he doesn’t speak much anyway.

“Perhaps we went about this the wrong way?” Dings sighs, draping against his bedpost. “Maybe it was a bit… unnatural… to assume that we would all cooperate and follow the same guidelines and beliefs pertaining to building a relationship with _____.” 

G steps into the discussion. “Well, yeah. It’s not like we all want the exact same thing with her, so why would we all want to do the exact same things?” 

“And why would _she_ ever want to adhere to those same things with all of us?” Dings concurs. 

“You know she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t treat us the same. She sees we’re not all the same. That’s part of the big reason we’re all,” G pauses, stammering, “uh, attracted, to her.” 

“That’s quite a smart observance, G.”

“So,” Gaster clears his throat, “if we agree that it’s _unnatural_ to use the same mannerisms, techniques, and regulations to attract _____’s attention, then could we also agree that it would be _natural_ , and dare I say _appropriate_ to simply adopt our own methods instead of attempting conformity?”

“yeah,” Sans nods, “i don’t even know what i want, but whatever it is, i don’t wanna be doing it any way but mine.”

Even Edge agrees. “I REFUSE TO PURSUE _____ IN ANY OF THE WEAK, PATHETIC WAYS THAT ANY OF YOU COULD COME UP WITH!” 

“so we’re all down for mass chaos flirting with _____?” Red smirks. 

“I detest anarchy,” Gaster sighs, “but if this is what would be more flexible for all of us, and if that’s what she would prefer us do to get closer to her, which it seems she would, then in bluntest, crudest terms, yes, Red. Mass chaos is, in fact, the answer.” 

“hell yeah,” the short skeleton shows off his singular gold fang, and all Stretch can do is sigh. 

More chaos? He’s just about had all that he can take. First there was everything with the mountain, and being freed, and then there’s living here, in this place that he hasn’t even left because everyone’s _so damn nervous about the world now_ , monsters and humans alike. Now there’s this girl, there’s you, and yeah, Stretch hates to admit it, because he maybe talked to you for twenty minutes at most, but he’s taken a little liking to you. You’re cute, funny, smart, caring, and fuck, you’re so nice to Blueberry. Hell, that’s just about all he’s ever wanted. 

You’re all that anyone in this room has ever wanted, too, he’s guessing, from all this shit that’s gone down over you. And that means he’s gonna have to fight tooth and nail for you. Of course, it can’t be easy. Nothing’s ever easy for Stretch. 

But sometimes, the best things take a little effort.

  



	5. Grocery Excursion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs in this chapter are: "Fergalicious" by Fergie, "Mic Drop" by BTS, "Ms. New Booty" by Bubba Sparxxx, "Photograph" by Nickelback, and "Anaconda" by Nicki Minaj,

  


The following hours are spent laying in your bed. You’ve never been much of a morning person, and driving at five a.m. for Jade’s sake certainly has taken its toll on you. So you nap, dozing on and off in a bed that’s grown to be familiar to you. Every thirty minutes or so, you wake, reposition, bury yourself in the blankets, and fall asleep again. Sleep is good, it’s a dear friend of yours. You take naps often and easily nowadays. It’s about eleven in the morning when your phone buzzes, waking you for the final time.

_Paps: HELLO, HUMAN _____!_

_Paps: BY THE WAY!_

_Paps: THIS IS THE GREAT PAPYRUS, YOUR NEW FRIEND!_

Oh goodness, what a sweetheart! That’s definitely something happy to wake up to. You’re grinning ear-to-ear by the time you get to the keyboard. 

_You: Hi Papyrus!_

While you’re waiting for a reply, you sit up in bed.

_Paps: IT IS AN HONOR TO BE THE FIRST TO TEXT YOU!_

_Paps: WAIT..._

_Paps: I AM THE FIRST TO TEXT YOU, CORRECT?_

Out of the skeletons? Well, that’s an odd question. 

_You: Yes? Why?_

_Paps: I WAS…_

_Paps: …_

_Paps: JUST CURIOUS!_

Well, that’s about as vague as fuck. Oh well, you tried. You sit there for a moment, unsure of what exactly to say back. A simple “oh” would suffice, but that’s just so… boring. Uncertain, you stare at your phone, hoping he’s enthusiastic enough to send another message. He seems so hyper. How long would he wait, though? A minute passes. Then two.

_Buzz._

_Paps: I HAVE A QUESTION!_

_You: Go for it._

_Paps: WHERE WOULD YOU, SAY,_

_Paps: BUY GROCERIES AROUND HERE?_

_You: The grocery store?_

_You: There’s one about four miles from here. It’s pretty big._

_Paps: I SEE! THANK YOU, _____!_

You’re puzzled by the time he replies. Have they really made it three weeks without going to the store? You imagine that the monsters were given provisions to last them for a while, but three whole weeks? And if Papyrus needs to go to the store, then aren't the other skeletons in the same position? Do they even have money to _buy_ the groceries with? Hm. You glance across the room to find Jade still asleep, her black hair fanned out across her pillow. Swinging your legs out, you step onto your desk, then onto your chair, and then onto the carpet below. 

_You: Are you the only one who needs groceries, Papyrus?_

_Paps: NO! ALL OF US ARE NEARLY OUT OF FOOD! THAT IS WHY SANS, GASTER, AND I ARE NOW PLANNING TO GO TO YOUR GROCERY STORE!_

_Paps: WE WILL GET ALL OF THE FOOD FOR EVERYONE!_

You’ve got an idea, but you don’t want to intrude on their trip. Sans and Papyrus seem especially close, and Gaster seems so well-mannered and refined, and you just don’t want to make a bad impression on any of them. You spend a few moments just staring at your phone in the middle of the room. Yeah, that’s definitely a good idea. So productive. You’re definitely solving shit like this.

Oh, fuck it. 

_You: Do you guys need help getting there and getting stuff? I can drive!_

The minutes that follow send anxious jitters up your stomach. Oh god, you totally just invited yourself. You just met them a few hours ago and you’re already being weird and it’s awkward and oh god. Your phone buzzes, and part of you wants to avoid even looking at it. Nevertheless, you know you need to, so you do.

_Sans: you sure about that offer kiddo_

_Sans: we dont want to bother you_

_Sans: but we could honestly use the help even if paps and gaster think they got this_

Oh. You certainly weren’t expecting _that_. The fluttering in your gut settles itself as you now have two nice skeletons texting you. 

_You: Yeah, I’m sure! I’d love to come!_

The bathroom mirror shows you that your hair’s an absolute fucking mess, and you proceed to try and fix the bedhead. You double-check your deodorant while you’re at it. Ugh, you could use a little makeup, too. You’re touching up your concealer when there’s a knock at your door. Typically, you and Jade fight over who answers it, but she’s out cold, and you have a feeling there’s a skeleton or two on the other side.

“HELLO, _____!"

Oh, there’s three. The three that you’re going to the store with.

Sans eyes the un-blended concealer dots on your face. “ready?”

“Uh.” 

“I told you two not to bother her,” Gaster scolds from behind Sans and Papyrus. “We are perfectly capable of handling this on—“

“gast, teleporting to the bank across the block to convert our gold one time doesn’t exactly mean that you have real-world experience.” Sans glances back to the tallest skeleton, who flushes with bewilderment. Well, at least you know they have the right currency.

You try to diffuse the situation quickly with a gentle, light tone. “Gaster, it’s fine. I volunteered willingly to go. I know you can do this, but I’m more than happy to help.”

The look on his face clearly conveys that he wasn’t expecting you to speak up. Nevertheless, he nods at you. “Do you need a moment to, ah… finish whatever it is you’re doing currently?” 

Oh, there’s still dots of makeup on your face. Right. 

This morning, you didn’t think that you’d be coming back to your car this quick, but sure enough, you’re now back in the parking garage. Since it’s only been a few hours, it’s easy to find. You unlock the doors with a press of a button, and Gaster gets in the seat next to yours. He’s almost comical, with the top of his head brushing the roof of the car. You’re glad he’s the tallest skeleton; you can’t even imagine what you’d do if you had to drive someone even _taller_. 

“SO THIS IS WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE IN A CAR!” Papyrus exclaims. He’s in the back with his brother, beaming like the sun. “HOW EXCITING!”

“I haven’t even turned it on yet, Paps!” You laugh. 

When you actually do turn the key, you watch his reaction. The car comes alive before him, lighting up and humming with energy. The radio crackles, searching for what little signal it can pick up under the constraints of the garage. Papyrus is completely and utterly ecstatic. After looking over your shoulder, you back out. The instant you exit the parking garage, the radio finds a station, and you remember just how loud you were jamming this morning. 

_”…Boys just come and go like seasons_

_Fergalicious_

_So delicious…"_

Out of the corner of your eye you see Gaster’s questioning glance. You don’t think he likes this very much. Okay, time to find something else. 

_”Did you see my bag_

_Did you see my bag_

_It’s hella trophies and it’s hella thick…"_

This isn’t bad. 

_”…What you think 'bout that_

_What you think 'bout that_

_I bet it got my haters-"_

The signal buzzes out after that, leaving you to look for something you can actually hear. You turn at an intersection, then continue fiddling through radios. 

_”Booty, booty, booty, booty_

_Rockin’ everywhere_

_Booty, booty, booty, booty_

_Rockin’ everywhere-"_

You hear Gaster’s scoff before you see his face and comply immediately. As you find another station, you look in your mirror to see nervous sweat beading on Sans’ skull. Papyrus is oblivious, happily bobbing his head to whatever’s playing. This time, it’s bad, irrationally bad.

_”Look at this photograph,_

_Every time I do it makes me laugh-"_

That’s all it takes for you to realize what the song is and change it. Fucking shit. What is this, the fourth time? Fifth? You’re getting aggravated. The next station you find, you’re keeping it there, no matter what it is. You scroll through channels of white noise, which you notice makes Gaster recoil in the leather seat. What’s his deal with it? It just sounds like a lot of nothing. 

Finally, you get close to a station with a strong signal. This is it, this is the song you’ve been waiting for, the good, clean, wholesome tune that’ll get you through the rest of the…

_”...This dude named Michael_

_Used to ride motorcycles_

_Dick bigger than a tower_

_And I ain’t talking ‘bout Eiffels…"_

The… the rest of the… drive.

“I give up,” you sigh, and resign yourself to Nicki Minaj all while avoiding Gaster’s disapproving glare and Sans’ snickers. Alone, or even with Jade, you would’ve jammed out to this. But in this car, with your new friends that you’re trying to make a good impression on...

_”...Pussy put his ass to sleep_

_Now he callin’ me NyQuil…"_

Oh dear lord, it keeps getting worse.

_”...Now that bang, bang, bang_

_I let him hit it ‘cause he slang cocaine_

_He toss my salad like his name Romaine…"_

“We’re here!” You announce, roughly stopping the car at the first parking spot you can find. You abruptly click off the radio (thank god it’s over) and unlock the car door. Papyrus is the first to emerge from your vehicle, bouncing with anticipation. His armor clangs against the door as he shuts it. 

“HERE WE ARE!” 

“So it seems.” Gaster shuts the car door quietly behind him, and does the same to Sans’ door when he finally slinks out. “It doesn’t look too terribly busy for a weekend morning.” 

A few cars are scattered across the lot in patches. There might be twenty-five people in the store at the most. You suppose that’s good, considering that this is Sans and Papyrus’ first time out in public. Most people probably haven’t even _seen_ a monster in person yet. It may help that you’re with them, but still, you’ve gotta be careful. You exchange a cautionary glance with Sans before locking your car and beginning your walk across the parking lot. 

“What’s on the list?” You ask Gaster, whom you know probably has everything written down and detailed.

“Condiments, caffeine, and food in bulk, mostly,” the tallest skeleton replies, “as well as a few toiletries. It’s not required for monsters to bathe and practice hygiene, since our bodies are manifested with magic. However, some of us like to, as a luxury.”

“That’s nice.”

“I’d like to pick up some cologne while we’re in here,” he says curtly. It’s not like you’re going to see anything high-dollar in here, but hell, maybe you’ll find some scent that he’ll like. Will he get any for anyone else?

Papyrus grabs a cart and starts to push it. The back left wheel is sticky, but he pushes so enthusiastically (read: aggressively) that it doesn’t bother him. You’re off to the grocery section of the store first, per his request. It’d be easier to knock out most of the list first, anyway. 

“Do you guys eat much fruit now that you’re up here?” As you walk through the bins of produce you can’t help but notice how intrigued Gaster and Papyrus are. Their eyes peruse the various stacks of fruits with a delicate sort of curiosity.

"I’m afraid not,” Gaster replies, “our provisions from the government only contained dry goods.” 

“BUT I’M EAGER TO TRY!” Papyrus chimes in at full volume, and though you wince a bit at the noise, you laugh. “_____, ARE THESE RED DELICIOUS APPLES TRULY DELICIOUS?”

“They’re pretty good. Most apples are. You just have to remember to avoid the core!”

 **”The what.”** Gaster’s sockets have gone black, and his voice just dropped quite a bit. 

You’re more than a little confused. “The c-“ you start, but Sans cuts you off.

“not like that, doc. relax. don’t want you to have a _pear_ -able first time in the produce section. _veg_ out a bit.”

Gaster gives him a flat expression, but at least his pupils are back to normal. And wait, did Sans just refer to him as a doctor? You don’t want to pry, but... 

“I THINK THESE WILL DO!”

Your attention is suddenly called back to Papyrus, who has several bags of clementines in his bony arms.

“THERE ARE LOTS OF THESE TINY ORANGES, AND THERE ARE LOTS OF US SKELETONS! WE CAN ALL SPLIT THE BAGS AND SHARE! LOOK AT THEM, THEY’RE SO LITTLE! WHAT CUTIES!” 

“That’s adorable, Paps!” You’re giggling as you help the tall, boisterous skeleton place the clementines into your cart. 4 bags should be enough, right? Goodness, Papyrus is cute as hell. His eyes are about as wide as they can go, and he’s absolutely beaming. You can’t help but blush.

Why can’t you stop blushing today? Why are all these skeletons so fucking _attractive_? What the fuck?

Suddenly, Gaster pipes up. “Boys, if you would, continue looking in this area. I’d like to borrow _____ for a moment, if that’s acceptable. I need her opinion on something.” 

“depends,” Sans snorts, “you bringing her back?” 

Papyrus chimes in, “SANS, DON’T BE PREPOSTEROUS! OF COURSE HE WILL BRING _____ BACK! HE WOULDN'T SIMPLY TAKE HER AWAY TO SOMEWHERE ELSE AND NEVER RETURN!”

“Of course not.” Gaster’s smile is tight, you notice, but cordial. “Your brother is correct. Don’t be preposterous, Sans.” 

Gaster places a hand on your shoulder and turns you around, much to the shortest skeleton’s chagrin. He leads you in the other direction, and you don’t see the expression he throws back at the other two, but you _do_ notice the bony grimace that forms on Sans’ face as you go. 

You’re not sure where you expected Gaster to lead you, but the wine section definitely wasn’t it. You gaze at the rows and rows of bottles that vary in shape, size, and color. They’re all organized in some way, you know, but they might as well be random, considering that you don’t know jack shit about wine.

“Which blends do you prefer?” He asks you. He pulls at the ends of his black jacket, bringing them closer together. He dresses nicer than the rest of the skeletons, you realize. Yes, Dings and Green both outfit themselves gracefully, and G seems to have a nice sense of style as well (ohh, that leather jacket of his), but they seem to lack the pointedness and formality with which Gaster dresses. His slacks appear tailored, his shirt hugs him tight. 

He clears his throat. Wait, shit, he asked you something. Focus, _____, focus! 

“Um,” you start, grasping for verbal straws, “blends?” 

“Wine, my dear,” he sighs, “or champagne, if you so prefer. I’d like your opinion, please.” 

“Oh,” you say. Wow, do you feel stupid, and you’re about to feel even stupider. “Well, if we’re being honest here, I’m not much of a wine connoisseur. Like I’ve had a little here and there, and I could probably point out what I _don’t_ like.” 

You stop to gauge his expression and find it devoid of any cynicism. He’s not smirking at you, or laughing, or even ridiculing you with his eyes. And here you thought he’d be snobbish about the whole thing. That’s... unexpected.

“But I thought you were supposed to pick what you’re drinking according to what you’re eating, right? Like you drink reds with red meat and whites with white meat?” In conclusion, you offer that, showing that you at least have _some_ knowledge of wine somewhere in that head of yours.

“That’s a keen observance,” Gaster remarks. “However, I think that in a modern sense, those rules are being abandoned in favor of everyone simply drinking what they want.”

“I like that better,” you reply.

“As do I.” 

You ask, “Did you have any wine underground? Sorry if that’s rude to ask, you just seem to know a lot about it and stuff.”

“You could never be rude.” The skeleton picks up a bottle of Merlot, and the blackness of the bottle contrasts greatly against the opalescent whites of his fingers. You watch a small, wistful smile spread across his angular face. “We indulged when we could with what we could. Sans’ friend, Grillby, had an immense stock, dating back to before the war. That was all finely aged, of course. A few newer bottles would end up underground here and there with the trash, most of them plastic and cheap.” 

Here, he laughs, a light laugh that tumbles from his mouth and crinkles his sockets. “There was one occasion, perhaps about fifteen years ago, that I found an intact carton of Pinot Noir. I kept it to myself, and spent the whole night drinking and watching a tape of this television sitcom I’d scavenged. I can’t remember it entirely, as I was inebriated out of my mind, but it revolved around these six people in a New York apartment.”

“Did you like it?”

“Sober, I couldn’t stand it. But it was entertaining enough to enjoy while drunk, and I admit it _did_ help me in learning modern American vernacular.” Gaster sighs as he wanders to the section of champagne. “I must admit, though, that I watched the entire tape that night.”

“Gaster!” You laugh, “You _binge-watched_?!”

“Is that what it’s called now?”

You return to the produce section laughing, and with two bottles of wine and one of champagne. However, when you get there, Sans and Papyrus are nowhere to be found. Your shopping cart is just as gone. You’re about to turn to Gaster when you hear a loud clattering noise- no, lots of clattering noises- from several aisles over. Numerous things audibly hit the floor of the market, and you think you hear a can or three rolling around. 

“Oh god,” you sigh.

Gaster’s sockets have gone black again. “There’s no god where I’m sending them when I get my phalanges on them.”

You make the quick decision that you need to find them before he does, and set off across the store. You slink through the aisles, trying to discreetly search for the harbingers of whatever it was you just fucking heard. 

Suddenly, flashes of blue catch your eye. Oh, it looks like they found you first. Sans rushes past you on the shopping cart, leaving indigo sparks in his wake. He dashes past you, the cart barely grazing you. You don’t even know how he’s managing that, with the sticky wheel on the cart… And here’s Papyrus, following him at full speed on foot.

“SANS, SLOW DOWN! IT’S GETTING DIFFICULT TO CATCH UP!” 

Sans glides by again. “we already have _ketchup_ , paps. i’m slowin’ down, though, so we can _relish_ our time together.” Sure enough, he slows the cart to a stop at the end of the aisle.

“THOSE WERE TERRIBLE,” Papyrus remarks, despite his smile. That’s when he notices you’re there. “OH! _____! I FOUND YOU!” 

“Sure did,” you say with a grin. “I was wondering what you two were up to.”

“where’s Gaster?” Sans asks, eyes shifting in their sockets.

“Oh,” you singsong, “he offered to take me away to some secret world that only he can get to and keep me safe there forever.”

You watch him tense up and can’t help but think the sarcasm went over his head. You figured Sans was the type to enjoy that kind of humor, but it seems that he’s unpredictable, especially when it comes to Gaster. You’re also wondering what exactly _their_ relationship is. They seem like they know each other, but they don’t quite seem friendly with one another. If anything, Sans irritates Gaster and Gaster intimidates Sans. Maybe? Or is it the other way around? They’re confusing. Really, really fucking confusing. But he _definitely_ looks unnerved right now.

In a consolation effort you pat his skull gently. “I’m just kidding, bone boy. We picked out wine, but then I heard a ruckus and imagined you were up to something. Figured I’d better find you two before he did.”

“smart decision, kid. i know he acts all proper and nice around you, but imma _patella_ you this, he ain’t all that he seems.” 

“What do you-“

He cuts you off with a simple, “don’t overthink it. just. you’ll figure it out soon enough. you’re a smart girl. not too bad looking, either.” 

Oh fuck you’re blushing again. Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck you need to stop this bullshit. You try your best to brush it off.

“So what do you say we go pick up whatever it is y’all spilled before someone else sees and takes up a grievance?” 

“yeeaahhh, that wouldn’t be a good example for all of monster-kind, would it?”

“LET’S GO!” Papyrus exclaims, and sure enough, the three of you are laughing and pushing the cart at a normal speed. 

You notice that, despite the mayhem, they actually _did_ get some shopping done. There are several boxes of both coffee and tea in the basket of the cart, along with paper towels and condiments. Industrial-sized packs of ramen line the bottom of the cart. Well, Gaster did say they would be getting food in bulk. You wonder if he’ll even remember to get that cologne with all the excitement going on. What did he even get the wine for? Three bottles aren't really enough to share among eleven skeletons, you figure, unless they each only wanted a glass. You didn’t even put yourself in the equation. Well, that’s assuming that they’d even _want_ to share with you. Well, he did ask you opinion...

You go to get a better grip on the cart and your fingers close over bone. 

Sans says “hey, uh-“ just as you say,

“Oh shit,” and the two of you just about leap three feet away from each other. And there’s the heat rushing up to your cheeks. God fucking dammit. You look up to see a trace of blue on the short skeleton’s cheekbones. Oh god, is he blushing too? Oh god, that’s kind of cute. You stand there for a moment, eyes fixated on each other’s flushed cheeks while Papyrus continually pushes the cart, that one wheel squeaking away. 

Finally, Sans speaks up. “i dunno if that was on purpose or an accident and i’m not sure if i wanna know. but i gotta _hand_ it to you, _____, you’re full of surprises.” 

“Well so do you,” you reply. “You’re pretty _cheeky_ yourself.” 

You end up laughing yourself hoarse at his mortified expression. 

Eager to catch up to Papyrus, the two of you speed up and round the corner. To your surprise, though, he’s preoccupied. A middle-aged human man stands in the aisle, hip propped against his own cart as he and Papyrus are mid-conversation. 

“So this is your first time out in the world?” He asks. You and Sans have clearly missed some of the talking, but the two of you stand back to listen to the rest.

“YES! AND WOWIE, IS IT SOMETHING ELSE! WE’VE ALREADY FOUND SO MANY DELICIOUS NEW FOODS TO TRY!” 

“We?”

“YES! I’M HERE WITH MY BROTHER, AND A NEW HUMAN FRIEND WE MADE AT THE UNIVERSITY WE ARE LIVING AT, AND-“

“I’m sorry,” a third, deeper voice cuts in, “are we bothering you?” Gaster comes from behind you, winding between you and Sans to stride over to Papyrus and the human. “As he said, it’s his first time out and he’s simply… excited. I beg your pardon if we’ve interrupted your shopping.” 

You and Sans exchange glances. Well, he doesn’t _look_ mad...

The man smiles and shrugs. “Oh no, you're fine. I was just about to head to checkout and, well, I’ve only seen… your kind of people… on the television. Wanted to meet you, make sure that you felt welcome and all.” 

Gaster’s clearly shocked by the response. “Ah, that’s… quite gracious of you, actually. I think we’re settling in just fine. Needless to say, though, I hardly expected humanity to be as… content... as it seems with our presence. That’s appreciated, as is your kindness.” 

“It’s just what I think I’d want if I were in your place.” 

“HOW KIND!” Papyrus remarks, and the four of you all watch the man smile, a genuine, honest smile that fills you with hope. 

You bid each other a good day, and continue down the aisle. You figure Sans and Papyrus are in the clear, right? Since they _did_ pick some things up and make some progress and run into that nice human, right? It’s only when you turn the corner that Gaster speaks up.

“Now, once the two of you finish picking up the mess you’ve made, we can finish our shopping.”

  



	6. Curiosity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is, um, some NSFW in this chapter. (It's a dick, we all know where this was going, c'mon guys, I'm constantly horny on main for these monster boys.)

  


Your arms are tired by the time you're finished delivering the last of the groceries to your new skeletal friends. They were willing to help, of course, but there were simply _so many_ bags, and once you finished the arduous process of bringing the bags upstairs you had to empty the contents onto Gaster’s floor, organize, and redistribute them to each dorm. Most of the ketchup went to Sans, and then the mustard to Red, and then a small fortune was spent on all the honey that Stretch received. Gaster kept the bottles of wine that the two of you picked out together, discreetly putting them away in his dresser before anyone could see. Maybe he’s not looking to share after all.

There are still two bags full of groceries on Gaster’s counter. When you peek through the plastic bags you see instant noodles, coffee, and strangely enough, a single pomegranate. He’s already put all of his and Dings’ items away, so...

“Hey Gaster,” you call back into his room, “what’s up with these extras?” 

“Those are for Wings,” the tall, stately skeleton replies, glancing away from a computer. “I will personally deliver those, as it seems I am the only one he… tolerates.”

Tolerates? Does this mysterious Wings really hate his skeletal comrades _that much_? Or is he just that terrible? You think back to your run-in (if you could even call it that; you didn’t even see him) this morning and shiver. There was that ice-cold feeling that crawled down your back. And that _voice_ , god, that voice. It sounded like beauty and horror, love and hatred, everything and nothing all at once, caressing your ears as if it were simply wind. 

You’re scared, but at the same time...

“I can do it,” you chirp.

Gaster doesn’t even look up. “No you can’t.” 

Excuse you? “Excuse me?” 

“You’re excused, my dear.” He still won’t look up at you. His eyes stay fixated on whatever is on his laptop. What even is he doing, anyway? You doubt he has a job; after all, he’s only been aboveground for a few weeks. Is he _really_ serious, though? Is he just… not going to let you take the bags? He’s not your boss or anything. He can’t even do that. Can he?

“I’m perfectly capable,” you argue. “It’s not like I’ve never dealt with a creep before in my life. I’ll be fine.” 

“Hm,” is all you get in response.

“How about this: You can’t tell me what to do, Gaster. As a matter of fact, I _will_ do it,” you try. Now _that_ gets his attention. When Gaster looks up from his computer, you’re propped against the counter with your hip cocked, and looking right back at him. For a brief moment there’s a dash of violet across his cheeks, as if someone brushed over the bone with watercolors.

But then he asks, “Are you a child? You sure are acting like one,” and you pale. 

“I’m an adult!” You huff, crossing your arms, “I do what I want."

From his leaning position against his bed, Dings chuckles. You weren’t even aware you had a peanut gallery. You cast an attempt at a harsh look his way, but when you’re met with those heterochromatic eyes and that playful grin, you can’t even manage a grimace. 

“You’re so cute,” he says when you look at him, “So brave and serious, but still so small and adorable.” He extends a skeletal arm out to pat you on the head, and you’re not sure if you imagine it, but you think you hear him make a quiet “boop” noise. Oh goodness. You’re not sure on whether to feel patronized or… adored, maybe?

Gaster stands, closes his computer, and sighs. “Fine. If you simply _insist_ on making this delivery, then I will come with you. It is for your safety. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

You close your mouth, cutting off the objection that was coming. 

The slender, black-clad skeleton is already at the door, bags in hand. “Come now, _little girl_.” He crooks his finger and you follow. 

The hallway is relatively quiet when the two of you step out together. Door 236 is a short walk down the corridor, with your footsteps muffled by the olive-colored carpet. Gaster’s stride is much longer than yours, and you have to walk a bit faster to be even with him. His gait is refined and confident, while yours seems much meeker by comparison. Are you really that small to him and Dings? They’re nearly seven feet tall, while you’re… well, you’re certainly nowhere near _that_ tall. You reach Wings’ door and Gaster steps to your side.

“This is going to be rather quick,” he tells you. “I will knock on the door, introduce you briefly, and then you will hand him the bags and we will leave immediately. He can be volatile, especially when disturbed.”

“Yes sir,” you say, almost automatically. Is he really that bad, though? You feel as if Gaster, as well as the other skeletons, may be overreacting a bit. You listen for any noise in the room behind the door and find nothing. No one could be _that_ bad, could they? Nevertheless, your knees shake, and you can’t help but want to listen to him. Anxiety comes creeping up your neck like a spider. The grocery bags are in a vice-grip. 

Gaster knocks. You hold your breath.

But no amount of breath-holding can prepare you for the way the door swings open, or the speed with which Gaster grabs for your hand, but he’s not fast, nowhere near fast enough, and then _something else_ grips you, and your vision blurs into black and red and you can’t comprehend anything except that you’re being _pulled away_. You’re yanked with ferocity into _somewhere_ and then 

**everything**

**goes**

**black.**

The hallway is relatively quiet when the two of you step out together. You’re dizzy, for some reason. Door 236 is a short walk down the corridor (too short), with your footsteps muffled by the olive-colored carpet. Gaster’s stride is much longer than yours, and you have to walk a bit faster to be even with him. His gait is refined and confident, while yours seems much meeker by comparison. Are you really that small to him and Dings? (Yes, you’re that small, you’re so tiny, you can be broken oh-so-easily.) They’re nearly seven feet tall, while you’re… well, you’re certainly nowhere near _that_ tall. You reach Wings’ door and Gaster steps in front of you, throwing a strong, bony arm out and across your body. He reaches back to find a grip on your hand.

“This is going to be rather quick,” he tells you. “I will knock on the door, introduce you briefly, and then you will hand him the bags and we will leave immediately. He can be volatile, especially when disturbed. You are to stay behind me at all costs.”

“Yes sir,” you say, almost automatically. Is he really that bad, though? (Yes he is.) You feel as if Gaster, as well as the other skeletons, may be overreacting a bit (but then again, they may not be). You listen for any noise in the room behind the door and find nothing (nothing that you can perceive, that is). No one could be _that_ bad, could they? (Oh, they could, they truly could.) Nevertheless, your knees shake, and you can’t help but want to listen to him (for good reasons). Anxiety comes creeping up your neck like a spider (or something worse). The grocery bags are in a vice-grip. 

Gaster knocks. You hold your breath.

But nobody comes.

He knocks again, to no avail.

“Maybe he’s not here?” You ask. 

You think you hear the skeleton next to you breathe a sigh of relief. “Maybe so, _____.”

Gaster walks you back to your room, fingers wrapped around yours the whole time. He’s holding them gently, yet firmly, and part of you wants to ask _why_ he’s still holding them; after all, you didn’t even _see_ Wings. But it’s not like you mind it. In fact, for some reason you can’t place, it makes you feel safe.

“Thank you for walking me back, Gaster,” you say, your face getting warm.

“There’s no need for that, dear,” he replies. For a moment, there’s a small, sad smile across his opalescent face when he looks at you. He adds, “Do be careful, _____.” 

“Oh, uh, sure,” you say. You unlock your room, kicking it open with your foot. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“I look forward to it,” Gaster says, and then you part ways. 

However, you’re not expecting to find a visitor in your dorm. Jade must have let one of your friends in.

“Which one was that?” Winnie asks from her criss-cross seat on the floor. You’ve known Winona Baker since grade-school, even before you could correctly pronounce her first name. A ray of sunshine in your life, she’s always sporting positive vibes and a flawless dark complexion. Today she’s got her dark brown hair pulled into two frizzy buns atop her head, and she wears her normal easygoing smile. “I couldn’t see him, but he sounded sexy. And _tall_.” 

You look at Jade. “What did you tell her?"

“Oh,” Jade says, “just that our floor is overrun with skeletons that all seem hell-bent on getting in your pants.”

“They _are not_!” You retort. “And you’ve only met one of them.” 

“Actually,” Winnie chimes in, “the one in the leather jacket came by looking for you while you were gone! And _he_ was really cute.” Oh, G. Just thinking about him, and that brush of a skeletal kiss against your hand, makes your stomach flutter. You’re not sure what to make of him, but he’s certainly quite the looker. 

“And before she got here,” Jade adds, “the tall, spiky one nearly broke the door down. He wanted to inform you that you were, and I quote, ‘an absolute cretin waste of space that he would never ever wish to associate with in a million years, and he just wanted to make sure you knew that.’”

“Edge,” you remark, “He’s the asshole. Well, the one I’ve met.” 

“Sounds like hatefucking to me,” your roommate mutters. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Winnie chimes in, “can they even _have_ sex?” 

“I honestly don’t know,” you say. “Like they certainly seem to experience attraction, so I’d assume so.” 

You don’t miss the way Jade shudders at your statement. She doesn’t seem to want to participate in this conversation, much less even _think_ about it. Nevertheless, she stays seated on her bed, a neutral grimace on her thin lips.

Winnie breaks the silence, as she usually tends to. “Hold up! So they’re monsters, right? And monsters are made of magic, right? Magic that they make up and conjure themselves?” 

“Yeah, that’s what’s been on the news,” you reply. “It sounds like you’re on to something.”

“So if they conjure their bodies…” she proposes, “couldn’t they conjure their own genitalia?” 

You’re gonna be honest here, not a lot of Winnie’s reasoning comes out this accurate. In fact, most of it’s off-the-wall and silly. She’s a creative-type, she can’t help that. But there are other times, times like these, when she makes some pretty good sense.

“That’s actually pretty solid!” You tell her. “Nice thinking about the hypothetical skeleton genitals.” Wait, why are you thinking about the hypothetical skeleton genitals again? Why do you need to know this?

“So when they wanna, you know,” your friend says, trying to hold back her now-apparent giggles, “do they just, just make their fancy magic ghost dicks up?” 

Jade mutters, “Oh god.” 

“Like, they’re just like,” Waving her hands and dropping her voice several octaves, Winnie yells, “ _Summon the ghost dick!_ ” 

“No.” Your roommate flops over, burying her head into the pillow, “Fuck no.” 

“You can’t fight the ghost dick, Jade!” 

“I hate you.” 

“Ghost dick!"

You’ve been too busy laughing your ass off to interject in the conversation anyway, but you’re pulled away from the bickering when your phone buzzes. Picking it up, you see that you have a text. Actually, a few texts. 

_Red: hey babygirl_

_Red: thought you might like this_

_Red: but it’s better in person_

_Red: Attached: 1 image_

What in the world? With furrowed eyebrows, you unlock your phone to see what he could’ve possibly sent you that’s better in- _oh dear sweet Jesus that’s a penis._

Your eyes involuntarily widen, and you feel your hands quiver. You’re looking at a picture of Red, naked from the waist up, with a very apparent, very hard, _very red_ cock. He’s got his tongue out, running over his smirk and curving over his gold tooth. Oh fucking hell. It doesn't help that, despite your confusion and irritation, you feel... a little attracted to that? What? You don’t even realize you’re making any sort of facial expression until you catch your two friends looking straight at you.

“What’s up, _____?” Jade asks. “You look embarrassed.”

“Either that or turned on,” Winnie remarks. “Or both. What if it’s both? What’s got you blushing like that?” She reaches over and paws at your phone, and you try _so hard_ to pull it out of her reach, but it’s too late and she’s knocked it to the floor and _oh god it’s face up_. 

The three of you all stare at the photo and messages for a moment, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. He sent you a dick pic. A _fucking dick pic._ Unbelievable. 

“Well,” Winnie chirps, “at least I’m right?"

  



	7. Fuckbois and Fires

  


It’s a full five minutes before anyone in your room can manage to speak. Surprisingly, it’s you.

“What am I even gonna say to that?”

“Nothing.” Jade’s even more flat-toned than usual. “Don’t even give him the satisfaction of a response.” 

“But that’s kinda mean,” Winnie tilts her head to the side and her buns flop to the right. “I mean, he’s probably not _all_ bad.”

“I really don’t think he is,” you second, “he’s just… being kinda weird and acting like a fuckboy.” 

“Are you implying that a guy that sends dick pics one day after meeting you _isn’t_ automatically a complete fuckboy?”Jade asks.

“I dunno,” you shrug, “he just… doesn’t quite seem like the type.” 

You lay back onto the floor, supported by one hand. The other hand taps away at your phone idly. You’re a little ashamed of this, but you can’t seem to stop going back to the picture. One second, you’re looking at social media, or playing some game, and the next, you’re back in your messages, re-reading. He fucking called you _baby girl_. You glance over the texts again, imagining his gravelly voice in your head. 

And you know it’s stupid. You know it’s just a quick attempt at sexting and a fucking picture of his fucking cock, which is the kind of shit you know douchey guys send on the daily, and that this in itself is a douchey move, but you’re still… charmed? Maybe? Even if you’re totally caught off guard and a little uncomfortable? Even if you don’t even know why you’re so amused?

“He definitely knows his angles,” Winnie suddenly says from behind you, and you don’t even know how long she’s been there but she’s definitely there _now_. She's looking over your shoulder at the picture of Red, an intrigued smile on her face. 

“Are we still looking at the ghost dick?” Jade asks, eyes on the ceiling. She hasn’t moved from her bed.

“No,” you say.

“Yes,” Winnie says at the same time. 

“Okay, but why the fuck are we still looking at this skeleton’s giant red ghost dick?” Your roommate groans. You can’t see her face but you just know she’s rolling her eyes.

You sigh, “Can we get back to the matter of ‘what the hell am I going to say to Red’?” Even as you’re still caught up staring, you know you have to do _something_. He’s expecting a reply, and even if you agreed with Jade that he doesn’t deserve one, you’re not one to just leave texts unanswered.

“You could send back a picture of a bigger dick?” 

“What the fuck, Winnie?!” You ask between barking out laughter. “Why the fuck would I do that?"

“To assert dominance?” 

“Jesus Christ,” Jade mutters. 

“Dominance isn’t my strong suit,” you say, trying to keep warmth from creeping up your face. “Fucking shit. I just want to reject him, but I don’t want to be mean about it!” It’s too late though, and the heat’s gone to your forehead. Your palms sweat and you can just _feel_ yourself blushing. Maybe a shower is what you need, with all the sweating and needing to think.

“You’re so pink right now,” Winnie remarks. “You’re almost-“

“Don’t say it-“ 

“ _Red_.” 

“Fucking shit,” you finally huff, standing up with your phone in your hand. “Y’all aren’t any help. I’m going to shower and think things through.” 

Winnie sticks her tongue out at you and winks. “Take a cold one.” 

The last thing you hear before shutting the bathroom door is Jade sighing, “Why are you like this?” 

Steam gathers up towards the ceiling of the bathroom. The hot water slides in droplets down your skin as you scrub the shampoo through your hair. You haven’t showered since yesterday morning, back at your parents’ place. It hasn’t even been that long, and yet it’s just so relieving to smell your favorite body wash. 

It’s only been a day, but so much has happened since then. Just this morning you were driving back here with Jade and your luggage, and now… now you have a whole bunch of skeletons for friends. _Skeletons_ , can you even believe that? And you’ve already seen one of them _without clothes on..._ And the only solutions you have so far are to ignore him or send back another picture...

What is your life now? What in the world is this crazy day? Will you ever catch a break?

Your thoughts are cut off by the piercing, droning wail of a siren. It sounds throughout the bathroom repeatedly, hurting your ears. Oh god, really? This shit, now?

A monotone voice echoes through your room. _“Attention. Attention. An emergency has been reported. Walk to the nearest stairway and exit the building immediately."_

You hear Jade scream, “Fucking hell!” 

All you can really do in this moment is rinse the majority of the shampoo out of your hair, turn the shower off, and grab a towel. Of course there’d be a fire drill on the first day back. 

_”Do not use the elevator. Walk to the nearest stairway and exit the building immediately.”_

“You’re gonna burn to death, _____!” Winnie yells playfully. 

You exit the bathroom in your fluffy robe, wringing your hair with the white towel. “Yeah, yeah, let me get my shoes on first.”

She grabs your arm. “There’s no time! We’re gonna die!” 

“Oh, shut up,” Jade rolls her eyes and tries to hide her smile as she pulls Winnie off of you. “We’ve all got our keys, right?” 

You make sure to grab your keychain before rushing out the door behind your friends. The hallway’s packed already, with people flooding in a slow drove to the stairs. The alarms on the wall flash a bright white strobe. You cast annoyed looks at the girls when the voice-over begins again.

_”Attention. Attention. An emergency has been reported. Walk to the nearest stairway and exit the building immediately. Do not use the elevator.”_

Jade mimics in a nasally voice, “Walk to the nearest stairway and exit the building immediately. Proceed to shove a stick up your ass.” 

You snort and nearly trip on the top step, barely managing to catch yourself on the railing with your still-slippery hands. This only makes your friends laugh harder, with their voices echoing through the stairwell as you descend. 

Fortunately, you’re on the second floor, so you reach the ground floor quickly. The fire exit’s right off the stairwell. It leads out onto a large field, where everyone’s gathered in loose clusters. Jade finds a patch of grass away from the majority of the crowd, and that’s where you circle up. When Winnie plops down, the other two of you follow suit. 

You can feel the grass through your bathrobe, and the water dripping from your wrapped hair. Part of you feels insecure about the fact that you were clearly caught in the shower. Another part of you simply doesn’t give a fuck. No one’s gonna say anything.

“I wonder how long we’re stuck out here,” Jade says. “I have coffee upstairs, and if it gets cold…” As more people file out of the dorm she looks back at the building with narrowed eyes. 

Winnie perks up suddenly, pointing over to a spot across the grass. “Hey, _____, look! Your bone-afide friends are over there.” She giggles at her own pun, Jade stifles a groan, and you turn to look over to where she pointed.

Sure enough, they’re all there… well, the ones you’ve met, at least. _How would someone avoid a fire drill?_ He seems evasive. You’re sure he has his ways. The rest of them are in the field, though. Edge is gesturing grandly and yelling, as he tends to, probably about the inconvenience of the fire alarm. Red’s got his back to you, thank god. You don’t think you can face him just yet (or ever). You’re contemplating how long you can possibly manage to avoid him when you realize that you’ve been caught staring. 

G’s staring right back at you, a smirk on his skull and a sparkle in his golden eyes. The last time he really said anything to you, he kissed your hand. Oh shit, that was kind of nice. Oh shit, he _looks_ nice. G looks back at the rest of the group, and then again at you. He pulls at the ends of his leather jacket, winks…

...And then he’s right next to you. How the fuck? You’re so shocked you jump up a bit. 

“Hey, angel,” he says with a smile. “Where’s the fire?” 

“In the dorm, apparently,” you reply as you try to regain your composure.

“Ha. Does this-” he gestures at the gathered crowd and the flashing lights, “-happen very often?”

“Maybe two or three times a semester,” you reply. “They’re not bad, just annoying.” 

He nods. “Agreed. Can’t say I’m too _hot_ about being herded out here and then getting gawked at.” 

“Sorry,” you try sheepishly.

“Eh, it’s fine. Let 'em stare.” With his skeletal hands he gestures down at his body. “This is all they’re seeing.” 

A guffaw from behind has both of you turning to face your little circle. 

“Sorry,” G says to your friends, “I don’t think we’ve met. I get kind of distracted sometimes.” 

“Me too!” Winnie chirps, springing up. “I’m Winnie, and that’s Jade.” 

“Hey,” Jade says with a nod.

“Hey,” G says, dipping his head in return. 

Winnie whispers to you, “It’s like they speak the same language!”

G turns his attention back to you in no time, though. “By the way, _____, I wanted to thank you for helping with the groceries and all.”

“No need,” you shrug. “I’m just happy to help.”

“Means a lot, though. Cute girl up and offering to help eleven monsters settle in?” He cracks another smirk, and you think you see the hint of a gold tongue. “That’s too sweet. I owe you one, kitten. Take me up on the offer anytime.” He winks at you and you just can’t help but flush pink. 

“Wow,” Winnie chimes, “_____’s even more red than when-“

“Shhh!” You cut her off, “Shut up! We’re not speaking of that!”

G doesn’t have any eyebrows, but his sockets arch up. “Do I want to know?”

Jade doesn’t look up from her phone. “One of the other skeletons sent her a dick pic earlier.” 

“Jade!” You exclaim, covering your face as you get even pinker. 

Your eyes are covered, so you don’t see the terrifying way that G’s pupils vanish into the blackness of his eyes. His posture stiffens, and his palmless hands clench into bony fists. His already-husky voice turns even gruffer. 

“Red.”

“How’d you know?” You ask. When you dare to look up at him you gape at just how fierce he looks. He’s stunningly so, but nevertheless, still terrifying.

“Intuition,” he snarls. A gold spark appears in his left eye and grows into flames. He growls, “Is that asshole bothering you? If he is, then you can just tell me. Just say the word, angel, and I’ll knock that fucker’s gold tooth out, and then some!”

“Whoa, G,” you breathe, “G, I got it! You don’t need to knock anyone’s teeth out or anything like that. No. I got it.” You place a hand on his leather-clad shoulder, breath shaking. 

He’s silent for a moment, just quivering with his anger as the lights in his eyes return to normal. You tighten your grip, squeezing gently. Behind you your friends have gone silent, both looking up with wide eyes. Jade’s even lost interest in her phone, and the four of you are just standing there on the grass, your hands on G’s jacket as you will him to just _calm down_.

“Alright, gorgeous,” he sighs, finally. “If you say you got it, you got it. I trust you. Just...” he sneers a bit, and huffs, “just don’t entertain his shenanigans. Hell, if I were you, I just wouldn’t even say anything to him.”

“Hm,” Jade muses from her spot, “imagine that. What a novel idea.” 

Okay, so that’s two people that at least _seem_ halfway sensible that say to ignore Red. Maybe that _would_ work. 

“Thanks, G,” you say with a smile. 

“And that doesn’t count for what I owe you,” he replies. Oh fuck, you’re blushing again, fucking-

“All clear!” A voice yells from the other end of the field. 

“Guess that’s my cue,” G shrugs, “I better get back before those _boneheads_ figure out where I’ve run off to.” 

You giggle, “Alright, alright, if you’ve just _gotta_ leave.” 

“You gonna miss me or something?” He puts a hand on your arm, gentle but firm.

“Maybe,” you shoot back with a smirk of your own. “I’ll see you around, though, right?”

“Of course.” 

And before you know it he’s got your hand in his again. Oh god, is he gonna, in front of all these... Yeah, he is, he’s moving your hand up to his face and pressing a delicate kiss on the back, right above your wrist, and you’re in broad daylight with hundreds of people here on the grass but it’s not like he gives a shit at all because he’s just taking his sweet time. He gives you yet another kiss, this one on your fingertips. When he looks up at you he’s grinning.

“See you around, angel.” And then he’s gone. 

You’re silent as you walk in, your face beet-red. You can’t hide your expression from your friends forever, though. When you get up to your room, both of them fix you with raised eyebrows.

“Hey Jade,” Winnie says, “I know where the fire was.”

“Where?” Your roommate asks.

“In _____’s pants!” She shouts, and both of them bust out laughing. Jade laughs so hard she grips the bed for support. Some friends you have.

“For real, though,” Winnie adds, “that was kind of hot.” 

“Those skeletons have got some nerve,” Jade says. Your phone quietly buzzes, and you go to check it.

_G: Cute bathrobe, btw._

“Yeah,” you sigh, “they really do.”

  



	8. Up High

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some mood music for this chapter is "Jesus Christ" by Brand New.

  


The next few days pass by in a blur. Your new schedule is a busy one, and you’re stuck speeding from class to class during the day. From morning to afternoon, you’re booked. From afternoon to evening, you study. And why the _flying fuck_ did you register for a 9 a.m.? Didn’t you learn your lesson freshman year? 

Apparently, you didn’t. Too late to back out now.

At least you’re enjoying your new classes. They’re all fairly interesting, and you even decided to branch out and take Social Psychology! It isn’t in your particular field, but when you signed up you were looking for something new to explore. You’re not sure what you think so far. It’s hard to form a solid opinion when the professor has been acting like a dick for the whole two classes that have been held. Maybe he’ll get better. Maybe.

You haven’t been able to see your new skeleton friends much at all. You’ve texted them whenever possible, though. It’s easy to slip your phone into your lap during a lecture if you’re sneaky enough, which you are. After half of a week passes by, you’re starting to figure out how everyone texts. 

Blueberry and Papyrus reply the fastest, and though Papyrus likes to send several texts at a time, Blueberry is the one most likely to “double text.” Their near-extraneous use of emojis is endearing. G and Dings are also fairly quick to reply, but you always have to text Dings first to get the conversation going. It’s not a problem, though. You’re under the impression that he has a bit of social anxiety, so you understand. The only emoticons he uses are the cat-themed ones, for some unknown yet adorable reason. 

Stretch and Sans both tend to be sporadic in their texts, sometimes answering instantly and sometimes leaving you hanging for hours. You never know what keeps them so busy, but it’s not your place to intrude, and they’re not obligated to answer you instantly anyway. You haven’t heard from Gaster, of course, because he doesn’t text and only wants you to call “in an emergency.” You don’t have Edge’s number, not that you’re complaining. 

And Red? 

_Red: guess that struck you speechless, huh_

_Red: cmon babe i won't bite_

_Red: unless you ask me nicely_

_Red: babygrilllll_

_Red: if you don’t know what to say you can always just come over_

_Red: we don’t have to do much talking_

_Red: rather have my mouth somewhere else anyway_

_Red: still speechless, doll?_

He’s sent you at least one text every day since Sunday, with the most recent one being just now. Giving the string of messages a glance and an eyeroll, you lock your phone. You still can’t think of what to say to him. Both G and Jade advised you to ignore him, so you’ve attempted to follow their advice, but you can’t help but feel guilty. He’s acting like a grade-a fuckboy, sure, but you’ve definitely dealt with worse before. 

You plug your phone in to charge and pull your sheets up over your shoulders. It’s too late to reply and start something, anyway. You have class tomorrow and don’t need to be dealing with this. With a sigh, you close your eyes and will yourself to rest. You drift off eventually, relaxing into your mattress with eased muscles.

_Buzz._

The sound of your phone abruptly wakes you from your slumber. 

Another one, Red? Seriously?

You grab your phone, rolling over on your side and pulling the blankets down enough to free your arms. It’s two-thirty in the morning; isn’t this a bit much? The light of your screen is blinding and bright to your tired eyes. Squinting, you try to focus enough to read the text that woke you up.

_Stretch: You up?_

Oh. So it’s not as bad as you thought. 

_You: I am now…_

_You: Tbh before I checked my phone, I thought you were Red_

How long will it take Stretch to reply? Your eyes flick over to Jade, sound asleep in her own bed. She sleeps on her back with her hair fanning out across the grey pillowcase. For someone so irritated all the time, she looks immensely peaceful. 

_Stretch: Ouch._

_Stretch: G told me about what he did btw. Dick move._

You snort to stifle your laughter. 

_You: I’m giving him the silent treatment til he takes the hint._

_You: Anyways, did you need something?_

You’re assuming the two a.m. text was for _some_ reason. It’s nothing serious, you hope. You flop over onto your other side, essentially wrapping yourself in blankets. You’re so warm and comfortable here, and it’s just so nice to be nestled into your bed where you feel safe and nothing can get to you.

_Stretch: Can you come up the left staircase? Like all the way up?_

Fuck, of course he wants you to get up. He wants you to get out of your nice, warm bed, and put on actual pants, and go down the hall and _up an entire stairwell_? 

_You: Sure? Give me a second._

With a huff, you climb out of bed and try to silently find pants in the darkness. Stretch seems nice, you reason. He’s laid-back, and obviously intelligent, and _oh is he tall_. In addition, the way he treats his brother is just _precious_. Yes, the fuzzy heart-patterned pajama pants are both practical and cute. You jump into them, and then find a pair of socks to put on as well. If you’re just climbing stairs, then you don’t really need shoes, do you? 

Gripping your keys so that they don’t jingle, you slip out the door and gently shut it.

“That took longer than I thought.” Stretch is waiting on the landing at the very top of the stairwell. He’s propped against the railing, looking down at you as you finish making your way up. Frankly, you’re exhausted after climbing all those flights. He doesn’t look like he’s broken a sweat. Do skeletons even sweat?

“For your information,” you reply, “I had to put actual _pants_ on.”

His cheekbones turn just the slightest bit orange, and he wipes his hoodie sleeve over his face. His voice is dripping with sarcasm. 

“Really? You put _pants_ on? Just for _me_?” He barks out dry laughter until he coughs. The sound bounces off of the walls and echoes down the stairwell. If anyone else is in here so late, they probably heard it.

“Well, yeah, if you needed something so bad you had to text me at two-forty in the morning.” You don’t even know why you’re blushing, or why you can’t even look him in the eye. You don’t even know what he wants, or if it’s even so serious that you should’ve come up here. And why here, of all places? What does he want with you, alone, at the top of a staircase, late at night?

“Yeah, about that,” Stretch sighs. He nods back behind him, at the door to the roof. “Do you know how to get out there?” 

“Not really,” you reply. “I think the door’s pretty much just there for maintenance, so it’s always locked.” You step further onto the landing, closer to the door. “And I think this is the only door.” 

“Alright,” he says, joining you beside the door. He looks at the knob. “You know how to pick locks, honey?” 

“No?” Why would you know that? Lockpicking sounds like a skill for a fantasy role-playing game instead of for a college student. 

“Well, you should.”

“Why?”

Stretch pulls a thin, sharp-looking metal object out of the pocket of his hoodie. “So you can do cool shit like this.” 

You bite your lip as you watch him slip the metal into the sliver of the lock. He’s slow in his maneuvers, deftly working the piece. It goes deeper into the lock, little by little as he jiggles the end. 

While he picks the lock, you look at his hands. They’re thin and long, with the ends of the fingers coming to a point. The bones of his knuckles are squared and more rigid than you’d expect, but you still like them. It’s amazing, honestly, to see how all of his bones work together, so quietly, so smoothly, so…

“Got it.” Stretch stands up, leaving the metal piece in the knob. Giving you a goofy smile and gesturing to the door, he asks, “_____, would you like to do the honors?”

You smirk back at him. “You’re too kind, Stretch.” You’re slow, making a show of reaching for the knob and turning it. The smooth turn you get is almost shocking. It’s not that you doubted Stretch, but this is a heavy-duty door, and every time you’ve tried it beforehand, it hasn’t budged. When the door starts to push open, you feel jitters and a rush of adrenaline. You just _picked a locked door_. 

Well, Stretch did. Wait.

“Wait,” you say, turning to him, “if you knew how to pick the lock, then what did you need me for?”

All he does is shrug. “It’s not fun if you’re alone.” 

He holds the door for you, and together you step out into the early morning light. 

“What do you think?” Stretch asks you.

The roof is up high, high above most of the buildings around you. You gaze out at the sky, taking in the deep purple blanket that’s enveloped the city for the night. It’s comforting, the gentle darkness that goes with the silence. Below you, the tiny stoplights on the streets change for the occasional car that zooms past. There aren’t many, though. Most of the lights are off, too, aside from the flickering bar signs and street lamps. 

“It’s like the whole city’s asleep…” 

“Heh, except us, right?” He walks across the flat rooftop and sits near the edge, eyes somewhere out on the horizon. He crosses his long, bony legs and leans back, pushing his weight onto his hands. You lower down next to him. Even when you’re both sitting, he’s taller than you. 

“Why’d you want to come out here?” You ask.

“If you'd been cooped up for years, wouldn’t you want to do the same?” He sighs, smiling wistfully at the sky. “That, and the quiet. It’s just so peaceful up here at night. Clears your head. Makes you think.”

He’s right, you realize. Not simply about being cooped up, but also about thinking. When you’re staring up at the purple sky, and at the flickering lights of the city below, you feel so… removed. There’s simply you, and then everything else. 

What’s on Stretch’s mind? What’s so big that he needs to come out here and clear his head? 

“Stretch?” You glance over at him. “What are you thinking about?” 

“Nothing,” he replies, “it’s just…"

There’s a long moment of silence after he trails off. 

“Stretch?” You prod.

But for a while it’s just like that, with you staring at him and him staring out into the expanse of quiet, dark sky. But then he coughs, shudders, and pulls his knees up to his chest, and you wonder if he needs a cigarette. 

“Honestly, honey, it’s everything. For one, I’m in a whole new world. It’s like, everything I’ve known, everything I’ve grown up on and gotten used to, it’s all out the window. Now I have a new home, and a new life to get used to, and I know it’s supposed to be big and great and all, and I’m not gonna act like it’s not all that too, but this… it’s just so much. Taking care of myself isn’t hard, it’s never been. But now…”

“Now you have to watch out for Blueberry, too,” you finish for him. That’s what it is. That’s what’s so troubling. In this new world it must be so hard for him to take care of a whole other person.

“_____, this world’s just so big. There’s so many things he can run into and just be fucking _traumatized_ by. I know I can’t protect him from everything, but shit, I’ve never felt more helpless.”

“It’s scary, isn’t it?” Slowly and gently, you reach to put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re scared because you care about him so much.” 

He doesn’t flinch away from your touch; instead, his reaction is quite the opposite. Stretch seems to lean into you, trembling slightly. 

You continue, “I know it’s upsetting to have all this stuff to deal with. And you’re right, you can’t protect Blue from everything. But here’s the thing, Stretch: it’s good that you care about your brother. It shows how compassionate you are, and Blueberry sees that in you. And he’s plenty capable, too, and bound to learn from the experiences that he’s gonna have up here.”

“That’s true,” he sighs, “I don’t give my bro enough credit. Y’know, sometimes I get so busy worrying about him that I forget that he’s an actual adult. Isn’t that fucked?”

“Nah,” you shake your head, “he’s your little brother. Sometimes siblings get like that. All that matters is that you care and want the best for him.” Your fingers brush the soft, orange hood as you run your hand across his back. He’s slightly warm, somehow. Through the fabric you feel rigid bone, but the bumpy texture is almost comforting. Soon enough, your hand is resting on his other shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Stretch. I know it doesn’t seem like it because there’s so much, but it will. I promise.” 

“Hon, I’m gonna be honest. I don’t typically do promises,” the tall skeleton says. He looks over at you (oh, he’s close, when did you get so close?) and cracks a long, thin smirk. “But yours is pretty compelling.” 

You smile back, and before you know it he’s wrapping his arms around your body and hugging you close. You’re pressed against his hoodie, and he smells slightly sweet, like smoke and honey. You don’t mind it; breathing him in is actually quite comforting. Draping your arms over his shoulders like a shawl, you relax your body against his. Stretch rests his slender chin atop your head, nuzzling a bit against your hair. 

Around you, the world is quiet. The isolation is strange, but it’s something you relish in, the quiet and the gentle breeze on the roof and the comforting purple blanket that’s over the city, over _the two of you_. It’s lovely. Amidst the silence you feel Stretch’s bony fingers slide down your back, grazing your waist, and your hips, and then coming back up to the fullest part of your back. He holds you tightly, gently, like he’s never truly held anyone before. 

He barely rasps, “I don’t really talk to anybody, not like this. Or touch anybody, for that matter.” 

For some reason you find yourself saying back, “I know.”

“Do you mind it?”

“Not at all,” you reply.

“Alright."

So he holds you longer, and you lean into him, feeling the outline of his ribs against your cheek. After a while, he stops shaking, and resigns himself to stroking your hair on and off. It’s lulling. You don’t bother to count how long you stay like this. This, with your arms around his shoulders and his hands on your back. This, with his chin massaging into your hair and your lips against the worn grey strings of his hoodie. 

At some point, Stretch picks his head up, his voice gruff. "I think it's time for you to get back to bed. Can't have you sleeping in class, darlin."

"Okay," you whisper, but you still don't let go. Some part of you doesn't want to, and just longs to fall asleep here, face buried in his warm hoodie. 

He squeezes you one more time, tight, protective, caring, sweet. 

“Thanks for all this, _____. I guess I needed it.” 

“Anytime,” you whisper, and then he’s loosening his grip, and easing away from you. "

For a moment your eyes lock with his, and they're amber and burning low like a fading cigarette. 

It’s felt like forever since you first stepped out onto the rooftop, but seemingly, nothing has changed. The sky is still the same shade of deep violet, and the stoplights still change for invisible cars that silently cross their intersections. You know that Jade is probably still in her bed, and that Blueberry is probably still in his, and that when you and Stretch return to your rooms nothing will have changed. 

Nothing at all, at least to everyone else.

  



	9. Is This Seat Taken?

  


In the morning, you find yourself in your typical Friday routine. Your earliest class today is at 10:30, so you wake up at 9:00, which isn’t terrible for a school day. Surprisingly, you’re well-rested, considering how long you were up. Jade’s got exclusively afternoon and night classes, and she remains dead to the world under a pile of blankets. It takes you approximately forty minutes to get ready. 

While you’re fooling with your hair you send a quick text to Winnie telling her you’re almost ready. She’s a natural morning person, with that glimmering smile. How does she do it? When she meets you outside your door, she’s wearing a sweatshirt with bees on it. How cute.

“So apparently there’s this Theta Chi party happening next Friday,” she says as you wait on the elevator. 

“And it’s over a week from now?” You scrunch your eyebrows together. “First of all, how do you know about this so far in advance? I don’t even know about frat parties _the day of_.”

The elevator’s empty. Winnie props herself against the back wall, shrugging. “I just know.” 

“So I take it you’re going?”

“Hell yeah.” 

The elevator lets you out on the first floor, and together you make your way to the commons. The two of you try to make a habit of eating breakfast together each morning. It helps you wake up, and the university cafeteria is free for you anyway. 

She adds, “Hiram’s coming too. It’ll be safe.”

Hiram and Winnie have been dating for over a year now, and you’d like to think of them as something like a college-age power couple. She’s her wild self while he’s quite possibly the most laid-back person you’ve ever met. She’s a business major, he’s into accounting. Their dynamic is strange, sure, but it works, and it’s oddly comforting when he’s around too.

You shrug it off with an easygoing smile. “Have fun, then. I’d go if frat parties weren’t big and scary and filled with people I didn’t know, omitting you two.”

That’s when she fixes you with a pointed look that, paired with her smile, foretells another one of her schemes. 

“Yeah, about that...”

“I can’t believe you want me to get them to come.” You’re sitting at one of the bistro tables inside the commons, a plate of pancakes and sausage in front of you. There’s a bowl of fresh fruit off to the side. 

“C’mon,” Winnie whines, “please? Just _try_ and ask them?!” She stabs at her eggs idly, pushing them around the plate with the silver tines of her fork. 

“Why, though?” 

“Uh, because it’ll be fun?”

“You know you can ask them yourself, right?” You eat a couple of grapes. “They’re pretty easy to find. Just go to my floor, pick a random door to knock on, and a skeleton will probably answer.” 

She’s quiet for a moment, picking at her eggs. Perhaps you’ve convinced her.

“But they’ll wanna go more if you’re going.” 

Or perhaps you haven’t. 

“God dammit, Winnie.”

“_____,” she groans, “I never ask for anything!”

Though you hate to admit it, she’s right. She’s not one to ask for favors whatsoever. Typically, she’s self-sufficient, omit the times that you’ve stepped in of your own volition. Despite her happy-go-lucky demeanor, Winnie’s had problems with depression in the past.There have been days when she’s refused to eat, and weekends when she’s refused to get out of bed. You’re there for her then, even if she doesn’t ask for your help. She never asks for anything, nothing at all, even if she needs it. 

And she does things for you all the time. There's her generous gifts that come around for birthdays, and holidays, and “just because.” There’s the times that you’re broke and she’ll always cover your needs, whenever, and without hesitation. Last semester you took a night class across campus, and every time you walked out of the lecture hall she would be there, waiting to walk with you back to the dorms so you wouldn’t be alone.

You hate parties. You hate the noise and the people and the labyrinth of bad choices that each one becomes. 

But you’ve gotta override your anxiety. Just this once. 

So you sigh, “Okay, fine, I’ll ask them. No promises about me going, though.” 

She brightens up instantly. “Oh my god, _____, you’re the best!” 

“Yeah, sure,” Directing your attention to your food, you try to hide your smile. You’re about to take another bite of eggs when you hear a loud voice from across the commons.

“HOW ODD! THIS… CAFETERIA… DOES NOT CARRY BREAKFAST SPAGHETTI!” 

Sure enough, when you turn your head to the source of the noise, Papyrus is standing in one of the buffet lines. Blueberry bounces in place beside him, unable to keep still. They stand out, obviously, but not as much as you thought. When you turn about to examine the rest of the cafeteria, you notice that there are quite a few monsters meandering about. Two anthropomorphic rabbits are seated across from each other with plates of eggs. A jelly-like creature is curled into a club chair. A tiny volcano considers the fresh fruit. There are two skeletons in line. 

And hardly anyone is batting an eye. There are a couple of curious glances, and a gawker or two, but that’s all that anyone is doing to express any feeling towards the presence of monsters in your university cafeteria. This doesn’t seem as shocking to everyone else as you initially thought it would be. You’re filled with… relief?

You wait for the two skeletons to get their plates before waving and calling out to them. “Blue! Paps! Over here!”

From across from you Winnie whispers, “Oh my god I’m actually going to meet more of them oh shit they’re so cute oh my god…”

“GOOD MORNING, _____!” Blueberry greets you, placing his plate on the table. It’s a bit of a struggle for him to get up onto the bistro chair, considering he’s barely five feet tall, but of course he manages. 

Papyrus addresses Winnie first. “ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE MYSELF, _____’S HUMAN FRIEND! I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS, BUT JUST PAPYRUS WILL SUFFICE!” 

Your friend laughs, her frizzy buns shaking atop her head. “It’s lovely to meet you, Papyrus. I’m the Sort-Of Okay Winona, but just call me Winnie."

Blueberry gasps at you suddenly. “WAIT! _____, YOU HAVE OTHER FRIENDS?” 

“Well, uh, yeah,” you grin, “I couldn’t just sit around and be sad my whole life while I waited for you guys to show up!” 

“THIS IS TRUE,” Papyrus remarks. 

Blueberry seems to contemplate this for a moment. You can’t say you’re surprised that he’d be jealous of your other friends, but is it _really_ that much of a shock that you do hang out with other people? 

Finally he picks his head back up, blue stars shining in his bright eyes. “IF HAVING THESE FRIENDS MAKES YOU HAPPY, THEN I AM HAPPY FOR YOU, _____!” 

Winnie whispers, “Oh my god his eyes are literal stars where in this world has this precious baby been my whole life…”

“You’re both so cute,” you say, eyes on both of your skeleton friends. Then, a thought comes to your head. “Also, I didn’t know you had access to the university cafeteria.”

“WE DO NOW!” Papyrus beams. “APPARENTLY IT TOOK SEVERAL WEEKS FOR THE COLLEGE BOARD TO SETTLE DEBACLES AND GET EVERYTHING IN ORDER, BUT WE NOW HAVE OUR OWN UNIVERSITY IDENTIFICATION CARDS!” He fishes in his pockets, and then pulls out a piece of plastic not unlike the one that you have in your wallet. It’s embellished with the school logo, a photo of a smiling Papyrus, and his name printed off to the side. His photo is… heroic. 

“That’s great!” You tell them.

Blueberry chimes in, “THEY’RE SO NIFTY! WE CAN USE THEM FOR THE CAFETERIA, FOR THE RECREATION CENTER… OH, I’D LOVE TO GO WORK OUT SOON! DO YOU WORK OUT, _____?”

You can’t help the snort that comes out of your mouth. “Oh, Blue, that’s funny.” 

The tiny skeleton only cocks his head to the side. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” 

In response, you poke at your stomach, sticking your tongue out. “I mean I don’t work out. Just look at me.” 

Light blue indentions that could resemble wrinkles appear on his skull. He eyes your fat rolls with curiosity. Do monsters have a concept of human anatomy? Would skeletons have a better idea of it, considering their build? It seems like Blueberry’s confused.

Finally, he speaks up. “I DON’T GET WHY YOU TALK LIKE IT’S A BAD THING! YOU LOOK SO PRETTY, _____, WORKOUTS OR NOT!” 

“AGREED!” Papyrus concurs, “THERE’S NO NEED TO FEEL LIKE YOU SHOULD DO ONE THING OR THE OTHER! AS LONG AS YOU’RE YOU, YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL!"

At this you flush, looking down at your near-empty plate. While Winnie awes and coos from across the table, you’re left silent and flustered. They’re just so fucking nice about everything. They don’t even care about your body fat, or in other places, your lack thereof. Why can’t humans be this nice? Why do you like that they’re so nice? 

What are you going to do with all these skeletons?

Luckily for you, your phone saves you. The alarm signaling for you to leave for class goes off at that moment.

“Oh goodness,” you sigh, gathering your things, “I’ve gotta head out. Creative Writing starts in a few. I’ll…” you trail off, looking at both Winnie and the skeletons, “...see you all later? Hopefully?” 

“OF COURSE!” Papyrus beams. 

“Have a good day, _____!” Winnie says as you head out.

“WE’LL MISS YOU!” Blue yells before you walk out the door of the cafeteria.

You manage to make it to your class with about ten minutes to spare. Creative Writing just might be your favorite this semester, if not just for the professor. Dr. Flowers has a grumpy, pessimistic demeanor, but he obviously loves what he does and cares about his students. The class is fairly small, too, made up of about thirty nerds just like you. It’s only been a week, but you’re enjoying the spontaneous assignments immensely. You wonder what surprise you’re going to walk in to today.

Today’s surprise happens to be the tall skeleton that’s taken your seat. 

Much to your shock, Green is seated in your chair near the back of the room. He sits straight, shoulders squared with his eyes directed at the front of the room. You haven’t heard from him in nearly a week, not since meeting him on Sunday. He hasn’t called you yet, and you never wanted to intrude on his space. Yet here he is, in your Creative Writing class, sitting in your seat. Like in the cafeteria, hardly anyone seems offended by the matter. 

He’s deeply immersed with whatever book is in his hands, a small smile spread across his skull. He reads quickly, flipping each page within a minute. It’s cute, the way he’s in his own little world over there. It certainly seems like it; he doesn’t even notice your presence until you’re directly next to him.

“Hi, Green,” you whisper, giving his sweater-clad shoulder a gentle tap.

He jumps a bit, but then eases when he notices it’s you. “Oh, good morning, _____.” The green lights in his sockets dart up and down, looking you over. They stop at the backpack over your shoulders. “Oh my, is this your class?” His voice is quiet, barely a lighthearted murmur in the room.

“That it is,” you reply. “May I sit?” There’s an empty seat next to Green, and you choose to take that one rather than to ask him to get up. You imagine that he’d make a bit of a big deal out of the whole thing anyway. You don’t need a huge gesture of someone giving you their chair, and you don’t need to make him anxious, either.

Green looks as if he is about to say something to you when the door swings open and your professor enters. Dr. Flowers looks tired today, but then again, he’s looked tired every day you’ve been here. His salt-and-pepper hair is smoothed back in its typical thick wave.

“Morning,” he barks. His worn leather bag is slung onto the back of his chair at the front of the room. He sits on his desk, hands clasped between his legs. 

Everyone nods and murmurs a greeting. Green places a tiny silver bookmark on the page he’s at, and then closes his book.

Dr. Flowers coughs, “So, uh, I guess first-off, we’re gonna take care of the elephant in the room.” He looks up, eyes landing on the spot next to you. “Or should I say the skeleton?” 

Your bony friend blushes bright across his opalescent cheeks as everyone turns to stare. His complexion is the color of spring grass, or tart apple candies. You have a feeling that he wants to hide in his book and never come out. You would, too, if thirty strangers were staring at you.

“Um, I,” he starts to stammer, but your professor cuts him off. 

“This young gentleman had the courage and initiative to hunt me down, send an original essay over email, and then speak over the phone, all just to take part in this class. He won’t even receive a grade; simply the education and the experience.”

You glance over at Green, who’s even more bashful now, though most of his onlookers seem fairly impressed.

“And keep in mind,” Dr. Flowers adds, “he’s done all this while being a monster, who’ve only existed to us for about a month. Look at the balls on this guy.” 

When the surrounding students start to clap, the skeleton squeaks and pulls his turtleneck over as much of his face as he can cover. That emerald color is all over his face now, and though you feel for his embarrassment, you can’t help but silently gush over how cute he is.

“Well?” Your professor asks. “Got anything to say for yourself? Maybe an introduction, for starters?” 

He just nearly shrinks in his seat, and then you realize that you can help. 

So you will yourself to stand in front of everyone, your hand on your trembling friend’s shoulder, and say, “I think he’s a bit anxious right now, but I’m sure he’ll get to talking later. This is Green, and he’s one of my new neighbors, and…” you flick your eyes over to the skeleton, who gazes up at you with wide sockets. “…And I suppose he likes to write.” 

“Poetry,” he whispers, so quietly even you can barely hear from your spot next to him.

“Poetry is his specialty,” you add. With a smile on your face, you finish, “And he’s quite good.” 

Dr. Flowers’ eyebrows shoot up as you finish introducing Green for him. Green’s shocked, too, from your blind praise to even the mere notion that you’d stick up for him. 

“I’m sure we’ll all be seeing how good within the next few days,” your professor says with a smile. “And with that, let’s move on to our discussion for today.”

“Thank you again, _____,” Green tells you as you walk down the staircase. “You were a blessing in there.” 

You giggle, trying to hide the pinkness of your cheeks. “Green, this is like the fifth time you’ve said thanks! It’s no big deal. Just a little public speaking stuff.” 

“I suppose,” he muses. “But to think, if I had chosen a different time slot, and you weren’t in there with me…” When he shudders, his bones rattle a bit. “God, the horror.” 

“Everyone gets a little nervous,” you say, reaching the bottom step, “I’m sure you’ll be presenting your stuff in front of the class in no time.” 

“Perhaps, with practice.”

“Hey,” you pipe up, an idea coming to mind. “Maybe if you’d like to practice presenting, you could always do it in front of me, and maybe some of the other skeletons, too! I’m sure there are a few that would gladly lend an ear!” 

“Would you really take more time out of your day to help me?” He’s hiding his face again, this time by raising a sleeve-covered hand to his mouth. Perhaps it’s a nervous habit of his. Then again, he _always_ seems nervous. Does he have anxiety, maybe?

“Of course I would,” you smile. “You’re going to be great, no matter what, though.” 

Green fixes you with a curiously cocked head. “And that’s another thing: why did you say my writing was good when you’ve never read it?” 

Laughter bubbles out of your mouth. “Because I just know it is, silly! And you looked like you could use a bit of an ego boost in there anyway!” Before he can say anything, you point at him. “And please don’t thank me.” 

In response, he merely closes his mouth and smiles at you. His smile is so sweet, and the more you look at him, the more you notice that he’s just a cute, tall dork with a sweater obsession. He’s handsome, in that strange nerdy way you can’t describe, and you’re currently regretting not calling him before this.

You clear your throat. “So I didn’t exactly get to finish my breakfast this morning, and I was thinking of going to grab food. Would you…” 

“I appreciate the offer, _____, but I’m afraid that I’m horribly addicted to this novel I got from the library.” He holds up the book that he had been reading before class. You don’t recognize the title, but it looks at least thirty years old. “I simply can’t put it down for too long. It drives me quite nuts. Would you mind taking a… ah, is it called a rain check?” 

“Oh.” Oh. You try to smile and brush it off. “I understand, Green. I’d love to take the rain check. We can spend some time together later.” 

“Thank you for understanding, dear _____.” His face is flushed again, but what for? He’s just rejected you, why is he blushing? “I look forward to that. But until then,” he sighs, glancing down to the hardback with a wistful smile, “this cliffhanger is going to be solved.” 

That’s when it clicks in your mind. Oh, it’s not personal. He’s just a book nerd. Even when he’s rejecting you, he’s cute. 

“Go enjoy your reading while I enjoy my greasy food,” you remark. And before you can think about it, you’re roping an arm around him and squeezing him close to you. His sweater’s thick and soft, and his body’s so much bigger than yours, but you just can’t help but enjoy the contact. He’s just so sweet. You think you hear a sharp intake of breath before you let go. 

You don’t even need to look to know what color his face is right now. Instead, you give him one last smile.

“You can call me later if you’d like, Green. I’d love to talk sometime.” With that, you wink, and with your bag slung across your back, you’re on your way. 

You opt to try the nearby burger joint for lunch, even though _absolutely everything_ on campus is going to be hellishly crowded for lunch. It always is. Every restaurant, including the cafeteria, is packed from 11:30 to 1. 

As predicted, the place is so crowded it’s hard to walk, let alone distinguish one person from another. You have to squirm your way through the throng of people, and some people are so unaware of their surroundings that you need to use your elbows. God, you can’t stand those kinds of people. They form in ignorant clusters all over campus, and at lunchtime, they’re unavoidable. Even the line to the counter is unorganized.

There’s one open seat left in the restaurant. You snag it before anyone else can notice, slinging your bag down next to you in the booth. At least the food is good here. Their burgers… oh god, just smelling the cheese and bacon on the bun in front of you makes your mouth water. 

You have your burger, you have your fries, you have your soda, you have a booth to yourself during the lunch rush. What bliss.

“is this seat taken?”

Your burger is halfway to your wide-open mouth when the too-familiar guttural voice pulls you out of your thoughts. Before you even have a chance to reply, the owner of the voice plops down in the empty booth across from you. 

“suppose it is now, ain’t it, babe?” 

You see it all at once: the hoodie, the chains around the neck, the extra-sharp gold canine embedded in that smirk, and then those deep crimson eyes.

“Red,” you breathe, your gaze meeting his. You never really realized until now that he’s not quite as like Sans and Blueberry as you thought; he’s much bigger, broader, and stronger-looking than either of them. His jacket holds more bulk underneath it, but _oh no_ , why did you notice that? Now you’re thinking about what he looks like underneath his clothes, because you’ve definitely seen that, you’ve seen _all of that_ and…

“i think it’s time we had a talk, babydoll. and what’s a harmless lil’ lunch date to talk over?"

  



	10. Lunch Date

I'd love to hear your feedback with how this story's coming! Hit me up with comments, kudos, or pester me at www.sansualfics.tumblr.com ! 

I hope you all know that I love you all so much and that y'all keep me going through the good times and the bad. You're all loved, each and every single one of you.

  
  


“i think it’s time we had a talk, babydoll. and what’s a harmless lil’ lunch date to talk over?”

You can feel your sins crawling on your back. And your sin? Leaving this monster on read for a week straight. While seemingly the smartest choice for dealing with the relentless skeleton, it’s now coming back to bite you in the ass. You’re here, in this crowded restaurant, with him sitting across from you. You consider an escape plan, but quickly find several problems. Firstly, the burger joint is so packed that you could hardly get far. Secondly, and more worryingly, if you were to attempt to get up and move, he’d obviously create a scene about it. You’d look speciest in a heartbeat, or rude in the very least. Red has you socially, morally, and quite literally, cornered.

How clever of him. 

Red takes your bout of silence as a cue to talk. “so i got this here _bone_ to pick with you, dolly. it’s the fact that i’ve been tryna text you all week and you haven’t said shit.” He talks with his hands, you notice, fingers moving and gesturing aimlessly.

“Oh, uh,” you pale in your seat, squirming. Part of you wants to disappear, or shrink down so small that he can’t see you anymore. God, you _really_ don’t want to have this conversation.

He drawls, “now i know i look like one of the _undead_ , sweetheart, but that don’t mean you can up and _ghost_ me.” His eyes are the colors of bright rubies, flaring with intensity.

Your burger’s sitting on the table. Gentle wisps of steam waft up from it, barely visible but still there. Would it be appropriate to eat during this? You’re having a serious conversation… but you’re at lunch, and it just looks _so good_. You opt to attempt to take a bite in a moment, after you answer his question, because he looks like he’s getting impatient. Red’s phalanges tap against the table, drumming against the wood. 

You need to say something. Something, anything, to appease the skeleton in front of you, so that you aren’t just sitting here looking stupid. You ghosted him. He wants an explanation. Come on, _____!

Head down, you manage to murmur, “I just didn’t know what to say…” and that’s the truth, you guess. You didn’t know how to reply to his dick pic and incessant flirting, so you just… didn’t. That’s acceptable, right? 

When you look up at him again, he has a french fry between his teeth. Wait, he doesn’t have any fries. Wait, did he steal that from your plate? You take that as an unspoken signal to eat, and pick your burger up.

“but that’s the thing, babe,” he bites down on the fry, and though you don’t see what actually happens to it in his mouth, you _do_ catch a glimpse of that deep red tongue. Oh, you don’t need those flashbacks but they come quickly. He talks with his mouth full. “i already told you that if you didn’t have anything to say then you could just come on over and, y’know…” He arches a socket at you, winking with the other. How does he even… ugh, god, you’re getting exasperated.

And it seems like that answer didn’t even placate him. He doesn’t get it. You try to word this next sentence carefully, so maybe he can take the hint, since he clearly hasn’t taken any of your other ones. 

“Red, when I said I was speechless, I… it wasn’t like _that_. Like what you think I thought about your texts, that’s not how I felt.”

He steals another fry, and this time he isn’t even trying to hide it. “so you _don’t_ wanna go to the _bone zone_ , not even at all?” 

Unbelievable. Un-be-fucking-lievable. What the fuck is wrong with him? Yeah, you’ve definitely had it.

You can’t even stop yourself before your gut acts, scoffing out, “ _No_!” 

“no?!” He barks incredulously. “fuckin’ no?” If the restaurant weren’t loud and packed, this would be considered a scene. “but I thought…”

When he trails off, you take it as an opportunity to cut in. “No, you _assumed_.” 

“Well, no shit, with how you were actin’, baby girl,” he says, palms up, “people are only as nice n’ patient’ n shit as you are when they _want_ somethin’ from me.”

Oh. Damn. You didn’t even think you were being that nice to him earlier, but apparently he saw things otherwise. You’re silent as you listen to him talk, only moving to take a french fry or two from your plate.

“which is hardly ever, because I don’t have shit to offer. so I figured, like, what could a doll like you want with me? and there’s only one thing you _could_ want, only one thing I could actually _give_ you. you wanted your first time with a monster, and obviously I could do that for you. thought you wanted me to and were too shy to ask.” He sighs, “guess I was off, but _shit_ , babe, what can I say? you’re super fuckin’ cute, and actually _kind to me_.”

He’s still got that smile on his face, but it’s more uneasy now. There seems to be a small bit of sadness in his eyes, and while you’re still mildly uncomfortable by his advances, you can’t help but feel a little… bad? He just hasn’t experienced much kindness, is all. You nudge your plate closer to him. 

“Have a french fry,” you say softly. 

He takes one, snickering, “needs mustard, but they’re still pretty good.”

“I prefer ranch,” you reply.

“fuckin’ weirdo,” he smirks. 

You fire back, “You’re the one who got a years' supply of mustard from the grocery store!”

Red snickers, “years’ supply? baby, that shit’ll last me a week!”

“What the fuck? Is that all your bony ass will eat?” 

“oh, so _now_ you wanna think about my ass?” 

“Fucking hell, Red, that’s the only part of you I _haven’t_ seen!”

Before you know it you’re both cutting up in the burger joint. Your body shakes as you laugh, peering at the skeleton through crescent-moon eyes. He’s looking right back you as his gold tooth shines in the light. 

Oh, that’s a smile you haven’t seen on him before. It’s real this time.

The laughter fades before too long, though, and you’re left with half of a plate of fries and the sounds of you catching your breath. 

“shit,” Red looks at you and chuckles to himself. “guess I really did fuck up any chance with you, huh, dolly?”

“What?” 

“i mean, yeah. i sent you that picture an' all that shit when you didn’t even want it. pretty _dick move_ , if you ask me.”

Your brain goes back to that picture, and you can’t stop it this time. You think of Red’s body, and the curves of his ribs, and the thick opalescent sturdiness of his bones. His eyes were hazed over with crimson lust. And his wicked smile on his face, complete with a long, deft tongue as he smirked up at the camera. His cock, too, comes to mind, of course, as it was the focal point of the picture. He’s about average length, but god, the _girth_ , and he’s _cherry red_ … 

You’ll never admit to _him_ how often you’ve looked at it since Sunday, but you can at least give him credit where it’s due.

“I mean,” you start, trying to keep yourself from blushing. “It’s not like I wasn’t flattered by the picture. It was uncalled for, but I could still _appreciate_ it, Red. You didn’t look too bad.” 

“you’re bullshitting me, baby girl,” he says, and before you can really take note of the dusting of red across his skull, it’s gone. “not ten minutes ago you were telling me you wouldn’t fuck me."

“No,” you shake your head, “I didn’t say I _wouldn’t_ fuck you _ever_.” And you can’t help the smirk that’s pulling at your lips or the dry, teasing laugh bubbling in your throat. “I said I didn’t want to fuck you _now_.” 

It takes him two french fries and a moment of silence to process what you’re saying. You can pinpoint from his facial expression exactly when he gets it.

Where is this conversation going? Why are you telling him this? Just a few minutes ago you were thinking about what a douche he was, and how he made you uncomfortable with unsolicited nudes and pet names. Yet, something in your head whispers _he’s not as bad as he seems_ , and you’re willing to go with that. 

You take a fry. This right here, with both of you laughing and jabbing each other in between the real conversation, it feels right.

Next, he asks, “so what’ll it take, doll?”

Of course, he wants to know how to mend the issue. He wants to know how to fuck you, but you feel like there’s more than simply that on his mind. You can tell he's analytic, strategic, straight-to-the-point, and most importantly, not all that he seems. He’s definitely smarter than he’s let on, not simply to you but to the other skeletons as well.

“You could start by trying not to act like a fuckboy. That’ll help your case for sure.”

“whatcha mean?” Most of the fries are gone now, amidst both of your idle eating.

You’d laugh if he weren’t a monster who’s only been exposed to surface slang for about a month. He genuinely doesn’t know what the word means. You need to explain this delicately, clearly, so that he’ll get the point and avoid being as douchey as he comes off.

“Like,” you start, “the guys that are obviously trying to get into girls’ pants ASAP. They direct every conversation to sex, and they flirt constantly, and they do stupid shit like ask for hugs from girls they hardly know and call every girl that doesn’t put out a prude.” 

“ah,” he drawls, then swears, “fuck, i’ve done like half that shit.” He fiddles with his phalanges, crossing them over one another atop the table. “look, i get i ain’t that great with this flirting shit. all’s i really know is to send you some shit i think you’ll be into and i guess that don’t cut it with you.”

You think back to his slew of texts. _we don’t have to do much talking. rather have my mouth somewhere else anyway._ An involuntary bush works its way across your cheeks. 

“It’s not that it didn’t cut it,” you reply, “because I was flattered, Red. Really flattered. And you’re attractive, too, I shit you not. It’s just-“

“it’s the wrong approach for you, right, dolly?" You’re shocked when he finishes your sentence for you. So he _is_ listening to you.

“Right,” you reply with a grin. “And you need to take one more thing into account.” 

Before you elaborate you watch him mill things over, thinking to himself. He’s got his eyes down, so he’s harder to read, but you can still make out a contemplative grimace. He fidgets with his fingers a bit faster, bone quietly scraping against bone. You can barely hear it over the noise of people, but you tune in on it, if simply to block the rest of the world out. When he looks to you again, his sockets are furrowed with obvious frustration. 

“what?”

“Time,” you say, rising from your seat with a knowing smile and a now-empty plate. You take it over to the trash bin, where you empty the paper from your platter and place the plastic on the shelf above the garbage can. Red's eyes are on you through the entire process. For some reason, you have the feeling that he doesn’t like waiting for things. You take your time in getting back to the booth. 

“took you long enough,” he growls when you come back, “and you give me a vague-ass answer like that. now babe, what the flying fuck do you mean by ‘time’?” 

“You’ll figure it out,” is all you tell the skeleton, “I know you’re smart, Red.” You get up again, taking your bag and cup of soda with you and leaving no room for him to butt in with another question that you won’t answer. 

Before you can walk too far, though, a bony hand wraps around your wrist.

“hey, uh,” Red says, voice dropping a few decibels. “thanks for the lunch date.”

“It was actually nice,” you reply, adding, “Maybe next time you’ll pay.” He doesn’t get the door for you. You open it with a wide, dramatic sweep of your arms, hoping he’ll get the hint. “After you, sir.” 

Why is he blushing this time? He snorts, “come on, don’t push it. i ain’t a gentleman.”

“Trust me, I know.”

“bitch,” he barks.

“Douche,”

“prude!”

“Fuckboy!” You shout before turning away from him, bag in your hand and laughter in your throat. He’s… fun. And definitely more than you expected. 

“hey, hey, _____, wait,” Red calls, gravelly voice enunciating your name. When you turn, he has his jacket-clad arms spread out and a shit-eating grin. “where’s my hug at?"

Now you can’t hold back the giggles that come out as you saunter back to him. “Okay, okay, fine, I _guess_ you can have one.” 

He’s taller than you, just barely, and therefore quite a nice height to hug. The first thing you notice when you wrap an arm around him is how soft his jacket is, and how he definitely fills the whole thing out. (Would you call him _big-boned_? Ha.) The other arm goes around his other side, slung around his neck. His hands seem almost clumsy in the way he wraps his skeletal arms around your waist, tugging you close with a force you’re not expecting for just a hug. 

He’s… warm? Yes, that’s him, not the jacket. Is his face flushed? You try to look, but with the angle you’re at, you can’t see very well. He smells earthy, like mustard and some plant you can’t quite place. It’s… strangely nice? Nevertheless, you know you can’t get used to it.

“Bye, Red,” you murmur, but just as you’re pulling away you’re being jerked closer. 

He moves his face closer to yours, and before you can even register what’s going on you feel a mouth being pressed against your cheek. The kiss is quick enough, a simple peck, but it’s a calculated one that feels like more than a simple brush of mouth against skin. 

When he pulls away, you’re expecting to feel that pang of annoyance within your stomach and the heat rising up to your face. The blush comes, but the irritation doesn’t. 

You feign it anyway. “Red!” You exclaim.

“what can i say, babe?” He shrugs. “you’re too pretty and i’m no good at this shit. besides, don’t act like g ain’t been kissing on you either.”

“I-“ you start, but you can’t seem to finish. Why is it that you never know just what to say to him? With a sigh, you turn, things in hand. If you can walk away, then this conversation can be over and you can go to your room. Don’t let him see you blush. Start walking. Keep walking. Keep-

“and goddamn, dolly, you look fuckin’ gorgeous with _red on you_."

  



	11. Spare the Dramatics

  


Something is missing.

Dr. Gaster eyes the open suitcase critically, glancing from corner to corner. It’s neatly packed, with folded clothes on one end and a black toiletry bag on the other. Of course, there’s no urgent need for him to actually _use_ the contents of the bag, but he considers them a tiny luxury of his new surface life. A second pair of shoes is tucked into a side compartment, and there are enough pairs of socks and briefs to suit him for a week and then some. A belt borders the suitcase’s perimeter.

If he has his clothes, his hygiene products, his shoes, and his accessories, then what in the world is he missing?

“Looking for something?” Dings calls from across the room. When the doctor turns, his roommate is holding a rounded bottle by its neck. Amber liquid swishes around in the glass and the skeleton smirks.

“My scotch!” Gaster exclaims. “I’ve had that for _eons_!”

“Were you planning to actually drink it anytime soon?” 

“I’ve kept it for emergencies. A crisis may strike at any given moment. Even and especially while I’m away on business.” Gaster strides to the other side of the room, nearly toe-to-toe with his merrier counterpart. “How did you find it?”

“You could say that I knew you had to have a liquor stash and that I meticulously searched through your things until I found it,” Dings chimes, and then adds, “Or perhaps I simply got lucky.” 

The black-clad skeleton snatches his bottle back. “Kleptomaniac.” 

“Would you rather me be a psychopath?” He nods back in the direction of room 236, singsonging, “I know someone else who is…"

Gaster sneers. “You know how _trivial_ I find gossip to be, Dings. You are but wasting your time.” 

“But I’m right.”

“Oh, do be quiet.” Crossing the room again, Gaster tucks his scotch into the suitcase, hiding it within his folded slacks in case someone decides to go perusing through his luggage. He’s had the bottle for ages, yes, and not once has he deemed a situation drastic enough to pop the cap on it. 

Will he ever find the occasion appropriate, or are his expectations perhaps too high? They often are.

“When are you departing again?” Dings asks.

Gaster sighs, “In an hour and a half, to be approximate.” The tall skeleton gives his bag another once-over, and then zips up the suitcase. “At least, that is when our car is scheduled to arrive. Perhaps Sans and Papyrus can manage to be ready by then.”

“That reminds me,” the other monster says, an easygoing smile across his skull, “have you discussed your trip with the others? I’m sure they would appreciate it. When I say ‘appreciate,’ I mean, ‘not lose their minds and dissolve into full-scale chaos over your abrupt disappearances.’”

“Perhaps.” He takes his phone out, beginning to prepare a mass text. Though he hates sending text messages, it’s necessary in the case of messaging all of the skeletons quickly and at once. It will take them a few moments to gather into the room.

Dings asks, “Are you also going to inform _____ of your departure?” 

“Should I?” Gaster arches a violent-tinged eye-socket.

“Well, I’d assume that if you want her to desire you, then speaking to her would help.” 

“ _Desire_?” The skeleton’s sockets narrow. “When did I say that I wanted her to _desire_ me?” 

Dings only smiles wryly, his body leaning against his bed frame. “The main giveaway is the fact that you disclosed your attraction to her last Sunday, when the rest of us did. Couple that with the fact that you’ve been making frequent trips out, under vague guises. I’d be inclined to believe that you’ve been hoping for a chance encounter with her.”

“That’s a bold assumption.” 

There’s a laugh in response. “Call me bold, or whatever you’d like. You don’t seem in touch with your emotions at all, doctor, so I highly doubt you’d be outright about them anyway. Ah, and nevertheless, I do remember one _fine_ detail about you.” Dings crosses the room, entering the kitchen area with a confident saunter. 

Gaster stands in the doorway, watching as his sweater-clad roommate swings the refrigerator open. It’s neatly-organized, with the oranges and coffee creamer and whatnot. In the door, however, sits a bottle of champagne. Specifically, the champagne that you and he bought together and he was forced to refrigerate instead of hide away like he did with the rest. 

“And here we have it.” Dings gestures to the bottle, with its scroll-script and wire binding. “You don’t even _like_ champagne.” 

Gaster huffs. “I will drink it, from time to time.”

“You bought this with _____. You bought it for her. Presumably, to drink with her, dare I say _in private_?”

“Oh, don’t phrase it like that!” 

Dings only grows more coy. “Like _what_ , Dr. Gaster? I don’t know what could possibly-” 

“Spare me the dramatics!” He exclaims, fingers pressed to his temples. 

Dings was the lesser of two evils when it came down to picking a roommate. He’d rather have stayed alone, as that is his nature, but it was much more beneficial to isolate Wings and keep any… extraneous mayhem… from occurring. Dings is a decent enough monster, Gaster supposes. He’s jovial and intelligent, and well-spoken, too. Of course, there’s the obvious factor that he can’t seem to keep his nasal ridge where it belongs, and the aftermath that is his incessant gossiping. He is, in a general sense, one for emotions and other frivolous things, but sometimes such cannot be helped or changed. 

This arrangement is only temporary, too, Gaster reminds himself. It’s not as if he will share a living space with someone else for the rest of eternity. A few months, certainly. A year, perhaps. Eternity, hardly. The skeleton knows eternity, and this is not it. This is bearable. 

A knock at the door interrupts his thoughts. Oh, and speaking of dramatics…

Ten minutes later, nine skeletons are gathered into Gaster’s living room. 

Wings, obviously, did not receive the invitation, given his… nature. The doctor wouldn’t _dare_ tell that wretch that he and two other skeletons were going to be gone for a week, thus leaving everyone and thing at his mercy. 

That leaves the others accounted for, all except for…

Blueberry pipes up, “HOW LONG ARE WE GOING TO WAIT ON RED?” The cerulean stars that occupy his sockets have widened in curiosity.

“That’s an interesting question, Baby Blue.” G nods, then turns to look at Edge. “Hey, Edgelord, where’s your brother?” 

“WHAT AM I, HIS FUCKING KEEPER?!” Edge shouts, foot tapping in his heels indignantly. “I AM CONSTANTLY BUSY IN MY ENDEAVORS TO BECOME AS MALICIOUSLY TERRIFIC AS I CAN BE! WHY WOULD I HAVE EVEN THE SLIGHTEST FUCKING IDEA AS TO WHERE MY SHITSTAIN BROTHER COULD POSSIBLY BE?”

Sans has his duffel bag propped up against Papyrus’ luggage. “we could always, y’know, _call_ the shitstain.”

“WHY DON’T YOU CALL HIM, YOU PATHETIC TRASHBAG? YOU’RE JUST AS NEARLY LAZY AS HE IS!” 

Sans has that tight smile on his face, his sockets but pinpricks. “hey now. you might wanna _dial_ it down a bit. call him, don’t call him, i don’t care. we just want to have our meeting and get it done, but hey, it’s your _call_.” 

Dings murmurs to Gaster, “Like _that’s_ going to get Edge to do any good.” 

Green, overhearing, nods his agreement. 

But then Edge yells, “FINE!” and storms out, phone in hand. 

Dings pipes up with a simple, “Well, then,” and proceeds to take a sip from his tea mug. 

The room falls silent. The remaining eight skeletons glance between the wooden door and one another. 

“Alright,” Stretch says, breaking the silence. He sits on the floor beside his brother, legs splayed under the coffee table. “So we’re waiting on Edge to finish berating Red, so we can then wait on Red to get over here, right? And we honestly have no idea how long _that’s_ gonna take, given that Edge is wordy and Red just doesn’t give a shit. Gaster, I’m gonna assume we’re under a big time crunch to talk, given that you never text. Am I right?”

He waits for the doctor to nod, then continues.

“So I’m proposing that we just do this big meeting thing right now, for the sake of time. We talk now, get everything said, and when Edge and possibly Red show up, we can just paraphrase so they get the message and we’re not waiting on their asses. And you can, uh, do whatever it is you need to do. Besides, I’m sure I’m not the only one who thinks the meeting will go more… uh, better, without them here.”

“I second that motion," G nods towards Stretch. He’s propped up against the wall, per usual. 

Blueberry is next to give his assent. “AND I THIRD THAT MOTION!”

“AS DO I,” Papyrus adds, “BUT CAN WE PLEASE CARRY THE MOTION SOON? I HAVE A TRIP TO LEAVE FOR IN LESS THAN AN HOUR!” 

“Trip?” Stretch asks, cocking his skull to the side. 

“yeah,” Sans nods, “not to over _step_ the doc here and make this meeting a _flop_ , but the three of us are going on a _trip_ in a bit.” 

When the rest of the skeletons quirk their sockets up, Gaster decides to take the reigns on this disorganized excuse of a meeting.

“Yes,” he nods, gathering his companions’ attentions with his voice. “Though I apologize for the short notice, I am confirming Sans and Papyrus’ assertions. As you all should know by now, I am in close companionship with our King Asgore, as are Sans and Papyrus. Several days ago, he informed me that there is a monster-human diplomacy conference that will be taking place at the capitol. It begins tomorrow and lasts for the duration of next week. During the conference, the Royal Court will be meeting with numerous human dignitaries, both local and foreign, to discuss relations, citizenship, and the like. Sans, Papyrus, and I have been invited to assist the Court in the conference.” 

“WAIT!” Blueberry takes the pause in his speech as an opportunity for questions. “WHY WERE ONLY YOU THREE INVITED? DO THE QUEEN AND KING NOT LIKE US?” Toward the end, he begins to pout, the lights in his sockets dimming a bit.

“I’m sure it’s not like that, Blue,” Stretch reassures, placing a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder and squeezing gently. Gaster always thought that the two had an endearing dynamic, one not unlike Sans and Papyrus’, but more… affectionate, perhaps?

The tall skeleton nods. “Your brother is correct, Blueberry. The King and Queen were only allotted a certain number of guests, as to not overwhelm the Embassy and disturb the political climate. I was chosen, allegedly, due to my closeness with the King, as I am the former Royal Scientist, and my knowledge and communication skills. Papyrus was invited due to his likability, and the fact that he is the Official Monster Mascot. Sans was chosen because…” 

Gaster trails off, deciding not to say that Asgore specifically requested Sans’ presence for his persuasion, intimidation, and muscle. He wouldn’t want to worry the tiny blue skeleton. 

Instead, he simply closes with, “because of his jokes. They lighten the mood considerably.” 

“OH!” Blueberry nods emphatically, “I UNDERSTAND NOW!”

Beside him, Stretch gives Gaster a different sort of nod. While the doctor isn’t afraid of Stretch, by any means, he’s aware that it would be wise to stay on the hoodie-clad skeleton’s good side. There’s mutual respect there, that which both of them can agree on.

G raises his hand, almost satirically. “So you’re leaving in an hour? And you’re not coming back until next Friday?” 

“It would be Saturday when we returned, actually,” Gaster replies.

“we’ll be _week_ from all the traveling,” Sans chimes in.

“Oh, do hush.”

G only snorts. “Have you by any chance mentioned this to _____? That might be important, y’know, to tell her, so she doesn’t wonder where you’ve up and gone.” 

Since when did it become common knowledge to tell the human girl if someone is going somewhere? Gaster arches a socket upwards.

G shrugs. “Maybe that’s a good idea, if you care about her or something. Just maybe.”

Gaster cuts him a glare. He’s so _dry_.

Amidst the silence Papyrus shouts, “MOTION FOR ALL OF US TO GO TELL _____ OF OUR DEPARTURE!” 

“motion carried, bro,” Sans says, but as the skeletons are all heading for the door, it’s flung open.

Edge still has an iron grip on his phone as he storms in. “THE FUCKING IDIOT WON’T ANSWER!” His eyes gleam a deep crimson, burning with rage. “I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY HE EVEN _HAS_ A CELL PHONE IF THE BUFFOON WON’T ANSWER IT!"

“Please, Edge. Do sit,” Gaster greets the menacing skeleton. “Your timing is impeccable; I wasn’t yet finished speaking.” 

The meeting isn’t yet finished. Eight sighs echo through the room as the door is left alone and the skeletons all find their places back in the room. 

“To catch you up, though, Edgelord,” Stretch nods to Edge, “Gaster, Sans, and Papyrus have been invited by the Queen and King to a diplomacy conference up at the capitol. It’s for a week, they’re leaving in less than an hour, and don’t take it personal that you weren’t invited to go.” 

“TAKE IT PERSONAL?!” Edge exclaims. “HA! THOSE SIMPLETONS IN THE ROYAL COURT COULD NEVER _HANDLE_ SOMEONE AS TERRIFYING AND FEARSOME AS I IN THEIR PRESENCE! IF THEY DO NOT WANT ME IN THEIR PATHETIC 'DIPLOMACY CONFERENCE', THEN IT IS A LOSS OF THEIRS! EVEN IF THEY _WERE_ TO INVITE ME, I WOULD NEVER WANT TO GO! _THEY_ SHOULD BE THE ONES TAKING _MY_ REJECTION PERSONALLY! HMPH!” With a final huff, he concludes his tirade.

“Ahem.” Gaster waits for everyone to quiet down before picking up where he left off. “I acknowledge that often, Sans, Papyrus, and I act as your leaders, especially when it comes to discipline and decision making. While we are gone, I fully expect each and every one of you to behave yourselves impeccably.”

“Understood,” G nods, “but we’re not children.”

“Yes,” Gaster murmurs, “but occasionally you act like them.”

Dings snorts out a laugh from beside him. 

“You included,” Gaster says, turning to his roommate. “Don’t think you’re exempt from this. I expect you to save any of your juvenile dramatics for next Saturday at the earliest.” 

“Oh, but of course.” The sweater-clad skeleton smiles condescendingly.

“I expect for you, any of you, to contact me in the case of an emergency, but only for a _real_ emergency. If I have to take a rain check on His Majesty for simple shenanigans, I will find out who is responsible and they will have a _dreadful time_. Am I clear?” 

“Crystal,” Stretch says. 

Blueberry cuts in, exclaiming, “CAN WE GO SEE _____ NOW? I HAVEN’T SEEN HER SINCE THIS MORNING AND I MISS HER! SHE’S NICE AND SHE APPARENTLY HAS OTHER FRIENDS BUT I’VE DECIDED IT’S OKAY BECAUSE I LIKE HER!”

“That brings us to another issue.” The doctor sighs. “_____.” He can feel a headache coming along from the shouting match that is sure to come within moments. Of course you're an issue. Of course, because he’s never heard of so many beings being attracted to a single one at the same timebefore. Because eleven Souls being drawn to the same one is unheard of, he has to bring it up. 

“While it’s understood that we are all free to pursue any sort of relationship with her that we desire, it’s important to remember that boundaries exist. I’m sure that any number of you have been in contact with her this past week.”

“Wait,” Stretch stops him, “Are you saying you haven’t even _talked to her_ all week?” 

Gaster huffs. “I don’t see what this has to do with-“

Papyrus interrupts, “GASTER, THE DATING MANUAL SPECIFICALLY SAYS THAT IF YOU’VE FALLEN IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE, YOU NEED TO COMMUNICATE WITH THEM REGULARLY TO EARN THEIR FAVOR!” 

“Fallen in- Heavens, no! I never said I’d-"

Dings cuts Gaster off again, humming, “I suppose we know who _isn’t_ winning this race…”

“IT’S A RACE?!” Blueberry gasps. “I HAD NO IDEA! IN THAT CASE, WHEN I TALK TO _____ I’LL BE SURE TO-"

**“Stars, hush!”**

And there’s the headache. He was foolish to even _mention_ you. You bring chaos. You bring competition. You bring everything, with just the mention of your name. 

Emotion, most of all. 

The doctor yells. “This nonsense is _exactly_ what I was referring to! Please, one of you honestly tell me that you know that _____ _isn’t_ a prize to be won or a race to the finish! That you’re aware she’s an individual with her own thoughts and desires that are to be acknowledged and respected! For the love of God, someone, please tell me that!” 

No one speaks up, but there is a slew of nods. G, Sans, and Stretch are especially emphatic about theirs. 

Gaster sighs. Perhaps he _will_ open that scotch tonight. 

G pipes up, “Look, I know _____ makes us all a little crazy. I mean, just look at her, she’s _crazy_ beautiful. But we’re gonna respect her, whether you’re here or not, Gaster. Hell, as far as I’m concerned, you’re _not_ concerned when it comes to me and her. It’s just me and _____ and what we want to do, just like it is when it’s just you and her. We’re gonna be like this with each other, obviously. What do you expect? We’re all interested in the same girl. We’re territorial and competitive, even though we _know_ she isn’t a competition or property. But no matter how we act around each other, we’re all gonna take care of her. You just gotta give us all a little credit where it’s due.” 

“I suppose that’s true.” Reluctantly, the doctor nods. He can’t help but be concerned, especially when he’s going away for a week, but perhaps G is correct. 

G nods back, an easygoing smile on his cracked skull. “See? It’s gonna be fine with _____. Now, I do think you should say something to her before you go, and you’re seriously running out of time.” 

If it were possible for Gaster to pale anymore, then he would upon checking his watch. He has less than twenty minutes before the escorts arrive to pick him, Sans, and Papyrus up. 

“Yeah, I know, right?” G says after catching a glance at the doctor’s face. “Better get going, or time’s gonna _clock-block_ you.” 

Gaster is gathering his suitcase in one hand and his briefcase in the other. The hangers of clothing are slung over his broad shoulder. He doesn’t need to adjourn the meeting. The urgency on his face is enough. 

When the nine of them all file out into the hallway, though, the tall skeleton realizes he’s forgotten something else. Rather, _someone_. 

Quickly and quietly, he gathers Dings, G, and Stretch to the front of the group with him. He lowers his voice, so that the conversation can be somewhat private.

“I neglected to tell all of you this in the meeting. However, it’s vital that the three of you are aware of what’s going on. One of you needs to relay this to Red, as well. He needs to be aware. I did not inform Wings that I am leaving, for obvious reasons.” 

“Psycho fucker would wreck shit if he knew,” Stretch says.

“Exactly, in bluntest terms.” 

“Is it our job to keep him from finding out?” Dings asks. “I have a bit of trouble keeping secrets, but it’s not as if I talk to _him_ , anyway.”

“Keeping my absence a secret is only part of your obligations for this week,” Gaster sighs. 

He glances back to the room at the end of the hall, with the door that seemingly stays closed all throughout the day and night. The truth is far from what it seems. He’s heard the rhythmic, methodical footsteps across the carpet in the early hours of the morning. He knows that Wings leaves his room on a nightly basis, that he roams the halls in quiet, curious contemplation. It’s only Gaster that keeps that anathema at bay. It’s only _his_ strength and willpower that can rival that monster’s. Dings is strong, surely, but not nearly as level-headed. Sans is determined, yes, but he doesn’t have half the power that the doctor has. 

None of them could stand up to Wings alone, should he attempt any of his typical wickedness. _This_ is why Gaster couldn’t announce his leave, _this_ is why he must have this conversation with these three.

Gaster whispers, “It is immensely important that you watch his every move. That you pay attention to his existing schedule and habits, so that you can notice anything abnormal before anything horrific occurs.” 

“Alright,” G nods, “we can do that. It’s easy enough to predict him.” 

“Is it, though?” Gaster fires back. “Did you know that he leaves his room every night, that he walks freely about this building until dawn?”

It’s Stretch’s turn to whip his head around, agape. “Wait, he’s just _out here_?! For that long?!” His amber eyes flick to Blueberry, at the back of the group. Then he asks, quiet, “What else has he done?” 

Gaster clicks his tongue. “On Sunday I had to turn back time. Did any of you notice?”

Slowly, all three of them nod, after glancing at one another to confirm. He waits for them to remember the brief sense of deja vu, those few minutes that felt redone.

That’s when Gaster leans towards them with a tight, bitter smile. 

“That’s because he killed that precious girl of ours.” 

He’s met with the stunned, horrified silence he expected.

“Do your job this week,” he commands, “And don’t you accuse me of never acting on my desire.”

You’re not in your room. Gaster, Sans, and Papyrus have fifteen minutes until they need to leave, and you aren’t in your room. They’ve knocked, they’ve yelled, and they’ve received no response.

“WHAT WILL WE DO NOW?” Papyrus wonders aloud.

But the doctor already has his phone in his hands. He’s already socialized over the phone today, why stop now? 

You pick up on the third ring. “Hello?” There’s something off in your voice. Are you breathless?

“_____, good afternoon.”

“Gaster? Holy shit.” There’s an inflection in your tone, one he can’t place. “Sorry, I just... wow. I thought you hated talking on the phone.” 

“I do; however-“

“You called me first,” you singsong suddenly. Your voice is melodic in his ear, drifting through his speakers smoothly. “You said you’d never call, but you called me first!” 

You’re so childish. It’s endearing. He called first, and gladly.

“Oh, hush, girl,” he chides, trying to mask the smile in his voice, “I said to only call in an emergency, and this is what this is.”

“Shit, what?” All playfulness drains from your tone. “What’s wrong?” 

“Can you be in front of our dormitory building in less than ten minutes?” 

By the time the three skeletons have taken their luggage downstairs, with the rest of the group in tow, you’re waiting by the glass door. The circular drive in front of the building is isolated, save for a few stray cars. There’s ten minutes left.

You rush to them, worry evident in your wide eyes. “What’s the emergency?” 

Gaster says, “I needed to see you.” 

Your cheeks flush pink. He didn’t intend to sound that urgent, and yet, the reaction he received from you was adorable. 

But then you say, “I thought you’d already be gone by now.”

“So you _do_ know about the conference.”

“Sans mentioned it a while ago,” you tell him. “He didn’t give me any details on it, though.”

When Gaster glances to Sans, he only gets a shrug in response. How typical of him. 

So the three skeletons launch into a hodgepodge explanation of the conference, adding onto one another with all the necessary details. It seems hard to follow along with three speakers at once, but you seem to listen decently enough that you’re not confused.

“So it’s just for a week, right?” You ask when they’re finished. “I’ll see you next Saturday for sure?”

“OF COURSE,” Papyrus beams. “I WILL BE COUNTING DOWN THE DAYS UNTIL I CAN SEE MY LOVELY HUMAN FRIEND AGAIN!”

“don’t get too _bonely_ without us, kid,” Sans says with a smirk. “besides, you got all those _numbskulls_ over there.” When he gestures to the six skeletons behind him, you can’t help but giggle.

“They will keep you safe,” Gaster adds, with his own weighted gaze flicking back to the group. They’re childish, yes, but he’s sure now that they’re aware of the severity of the situation, he doesn’t doubt that you have the best protection you can possibly receive. 

“I know they will,” you reply, “even if there’s not really that much to protect me from!”

The doctor neither accepts nor refutes that statement. He only takes you by the hands, pulling you closer to him. It’s all he knows to do at this point; it’s what feels right. Your fingers are small in his, and soft, too. 

“And when I return,” he murmurs, “perhaps we could drink that champagne together.” 

“Perhaps I’d like that,” you say back, voice low. You don’t sound sultry, per se, but you still have that refined, feminine cadence about you. He appreciates that. He appreciates your hands in his, and the ease with which you meet his eyes, even though he has over a foot of height on you. 

The weather outside is immensely chilly, but that doesn’t stop heat from creeping its way up his face. 

The sight of a black limousine wheeling into the drive brings Gaster out of whatever trance he’s been pulled into. Such vehicles aren’t typically in cities like this, and when they are, they’re not nearly as polished. Those outside stop to stare at the limousine, balking at the sleek vehicle. It comes to a gentle halt at the edge of the sidewalk in front of your group, the engine but a quiet purr. 

Time’s up. 

Papyrus exclaims, “WOWIE! THAT’S OUR RIDE!” He takes his suitcase in hand, and begins to stride towards the car, but then turns back around. “WAIT! _____! I HAVE FORGOTTEN TO SAY GOODBYE TO YOU, WHICH IS WEIRD, CONSIDERING THAT IS WHAT WE’VE COME DOWN TO DO!” 

“Aww, Paps!” You coo, “You’re too sweet. C’mere.” Parting from Gaster, you make your way over to the boisterous skeleton, arms out. 

“GOODBYE, HUMAN _____! I WILL MISS YOU TERRIBLY!” He practically envelops you in his arms, giving you the tightest hug you’ve ever received. You’re lifted off of the ground as he holds you. You can hardly even put _your_ arms around _him_. 

“Papyrus,” Gaster says from beside the two of you, “she does need to breathe, you know.” 

“OH! GOODNESS!” With a cry, the emphatic skeleton lets you go, and you land on your feet on the sidewalk. “NEVERTHELESS, I DO HOPE THAT YOU ARE ABLE TO CARRY ON WITHOUT ME!” 

“It’ll be hard, but I think I can manage,” you reply. 

Papyrus turns to bid the other skeletons goodbye before heading to the limo. Next, you go to Sans. 

“How are you able to fit all your things for _a week_ in that duffel?” 

“eh,” the short skeleton shrugs, “i just pack light. it _suit-cases_ me. less to _lug-gage_ around.” 

“Those were terrible,” you tell him. Nevertheless, you’re obviously holding back a grin. 

“you’ve got a week to come up with better ones.” 

“You’re on,” you shoot back confidently. “Bye, Sans.” When you pull him in for a hug, he’s clearly not expecting it. His bony arms are stiff at first. Slowly, though, they adjust and wrap around you loosely. It’s a quick hug, and definitely a more breathable one than Papyrus’. 

When you let go, there’s sweat beading on the front of his skull. 

Then you turn back to Gaster, hip cocked. 

“You still haven’t said goodbye to me yet,” you tease. “I thought it was an _emergency_.” 

“And it is.” 

The tall skeleton pulls you to him before you can even begin to bring your arms out. He clasps you to him, gloved hand on the small of your back. Your body presses against him, closely but not tightly. 

The both of you can feel eyes on you, several sets of them, but it hardly matters. He hasn’t seen you in a week. He won’t see you for another one. Deep in his Soul he feels… regret? Yes, regret, for waiting so long to contact you. He never wanted to be so openly affectionate with you in public, where you’re subjected to the stares of his skeletal companions, but at this point, he can’t seem to think much of it, so long as you’re touching him. 

He murmurs, “Do take care of yourself, my dear. You are cared for.” 

Your hair is soft to the touch, and he’s petting you as he holds you. The skeleton can’t quite recall the last time he’s held anyone, or been held. He’s positive that he should be making his way to the limousine, but this is too lovely to simply break away from. You’re small in his arms, small and soft and pretty to him. 

Suddenly, Dings exclaims from the peanut gallery, “Oh, do spare the dramatics, Dr. Gaster!”

The exclamation is followed with several laughs from the group, and you pry yourself away with a flushed face.

When you let go, the air seems to get colder. Oh, damn them. Damn each and every one of those _children_. 

He sighs, “Goodbye, _____.” The luggage in his hand has an iron grip on it. 

“Enjoy your conference, Gaster,” you say, smiling as you add, “and call me if there are any emergencies.” 

He can only chuckle to himself as he gets in the car. The limousine door is shut, and slowly, the car rolls away. 

You sigh as you watch them leave the circle, bag in hand. There are six skeletons left outside the dormitory, and you step closer to them. They look bored. Perhaps you can fix that.

“Are any of you doing anything right now? I’m done with classes for the day and it’s the weekend. We could do something.” 

Surprisingly, Edge is the first to say something. “IN FACT, YOU STUPID CESSPOOL OF FILTH, I AM INCREDIBLY FUCKING BUSY! MY IDIOT BROTHER HAS WANDERED OFF TO GOD-KNOWS-WHERE, AND REFUSES TO DO SOMETHING SO SIMPLE AS ANSWER HIS DAMN PHONE, FORCING ME TO TAKE THE TIME OUT OF MY ALREADY-OVERLOADED DAY TO SEARCH FOR THE DIM-WITTED RUFFIAN!” 

You elect to ignore his elaborate insults, though you do notice that he uses elaborate words. Is Edge more intelligent than he lets on?

“You mean Red? You’re looking for him?” 

“OBVIOUSLY, YOU IGNORANT LOUT!”

“Well, he’s not far off. I literally just saw him,” you explain. “We just had a lunch date together.” 

Of course, you're not expecting the six of them to erupt simultaneously.

**"LUNCH DATE?!"**

  



	12. Hangin'

  


“AN ERRAND?” Edge yells over the phone. “YOU ARE ALREADY LATE, RED! YOU WERE LATE TO THE MEETING TO BEGIN WITH, AND NOW IT HAS PASSED, AND YOU ARE _STILL_ LATE! WHAT KIND OF UNNECESSARY _ERRAND_ DO YOU INSIST ON RUNNING?!” 

He’s been lecturing Red for several minutes now, and you aren’t so sure it’s simply because he was late. Upon your revelation that the two of you had had a “lunch date,” you've received quite the amount of irritation from your skeleton friends. They aren't mad at you, per se, but they have definitely done their share of mumbling and grumbling. 

At least four of them agreed to hanging out after Gaster, Sans, and Papyrus’ departure. Green, of course, chose to go back to his room and read, while Dings said something about finally having “me-time.” 

What was so bad about you being on a date with Red? You used the term loosely, too. In reality, it was hardly what you’d call romantic. The two of you sat in a burger joint, he stole your fries, and you told him that you weren’t an easy lay. It was casual, sure, but still wracked with borderline-sexual tension that you didn’t expect to even exist between the two of you.

It does, though. 

And now you expressly know that he wants to _bone_ you. Maybe more? Maybe. 

“...AND WHEN YOU DECIDE TO DRAG YOUR SORRY ASS BACK HERE, WE ARE AT THE HUMAN’S DWELLING!” 

Edge doesn’t wait for a reply before angrily tapping the “end call” button on his phone. The device is slammed onto the coffee table, and the tall skeleton stomps back to your couch. He sits down on the left side of the sofa, beside Stretch and Blueberry. G stands behind the couch, leaning against the back of it. Isn’t he uncomfortable just standing there this whole time?

“G, do you need a place to sit?” You ask, perched up on your bed. 

He gives you a crooked smile. “Nah, angel, I’m good. Thanks, though.”

“You sure?” Biting your lip, you scoot over and pat the spot next to you. “You can always come sit on the bed with me. It’s kind of a bitch to get up here, but-“

Before you can even finish the sentence he’s stepping over to your desk, jumping onto it, and then boosting himself up onto your bed. That didn’t take much convincing.

“YES, G! PARKOUR!” Blue yells from the couch. 

“Hell yeah, Baby Blue,” G smirks, “Hardcore Parkour.”

Stretch pats his brother’s skull, all the while shooting G a look that you can’t discern. The golden-eyed skeleton has situated himself next to you on the bed, his long, jean-clad legs splayed across your comforter. 

There’s a skeleton on your bed.

This is fine. Perfectly fine. Nothing weird about this. Nothing that would make you blush or anything, especially not since you know their anatomy now or anything. 

Edge, meanwhile, looks utterly displeased with the whole situation. 

He barks, “MY LOWLIFE OF A BROTHER CLAIMED TO BE OUT RUNNING AN ERRAND. HE INFORMED ME THAT HE WOULD RETURN QUICKLY AND JOIN US IN OUR ‘HANGING OUT,’ WHATEVER THE FUCK THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE.”

“Come on, Edge,” Stretch shrugs, “you’ve never just sat around before?”

“I HATE _JUST SITTING AROUND_! YOU MAY ENJOY YOUR OWN SLOTH, ASHTRAY, BUT I PREFER TO BE PRODUCTIVE WITH MY TIME!”

You can only manage a smile and chime in, “We can go be productive in Dark Souls?” There’s a video game case in your hand, and after making sure it’s properly shut, you toss it down to the boys on the couch. 

Stretch is the one that catches it. “Oh _hell_ yes.” He opens the case, eyeing the disc inside. “Already the best hangout ever.”

“Have you played before, Stretch?” You ask.

“Not yet,” he replies as he reads the back of the case. “We didn’t have much to game with back underground. I’ve seen playthroughs online, though.” 

“Really?” A slick grin is beginning to make its way across your face. “So you know what you have to do, then, right?” 

There’s a moment of silence that passes between you and the four skeletons, none of them knowing the answer to your question.

“Get good or die.” 

The rules you all agree on are easy enough. It’s a one-player game, so only one of you can be playing at a time. Once whomever is playing kills off your pyromancer character, they have to give up the controller. 

Needless to say, it’s a decently quick rotation. 

Blueberry starts off with the remote, and it takes him a while to figure out the controls.

“WAIT, HOW DO I JUMP AGAIN?” He exclaims, ten minutes in, as he frantically presses each button.

You start to yell, “Press the-“ but it’s too late.

He’s dead. 

“THAT DIDN’T TAKE LONG,” Edge remarks.

“B-BUT,” the tiny skeleton splutters, “BUT I ALMOST HAD IT! I WAS SO CLOSE TO GETTING IT!” 

G only extends his hand out from the edge of the bed. “Controller, please and thank you.” 

“MEH!” Blue huffs, all but slamming the remote into G’s hollow palm.

“Play nice,” Stretch scolds his brother. “Don’t rage too hard.” 

You glance to your side to notice G getting acclimated to the controller. He presses the pointed tips of his phalanges into the small black joysticks, rotating them about for a bit. You can understand. There’s something soothing about just fiddling with the buttons, and you’ve even had your moments when you’ve played with the remote while the game system was off.

The tall skeleton adapts fairly quickly. The controls are easy for him to master, and he manages to maneuver your heavyset character about the screen with ease. His hand-eye coordination is particularly good, you notice, especially when in battle.

He gets into his own zone, staring at the television with sockets narrowed in focus. His bones tap aggressively against the remote buttons as he plays. Unlike Blueberry, he isn’t terrible vocal, aside from a few comments when things get tricky.

“Oh shit,” G gripes, voice breathy. “Fuck- I gotta- wait, shit shit shit- yes!” 

The hideous-looking monster he’s been battling is finally vanquished, and he lets up on the controller. He sighs, and from your spot next to him you watch his jacket-clad shoulders ease down with relief. 

“Doin’ pretty good, G,” Stretch comments, once the commotion has died down. 

“Don’t jinx me now,” G replies. He takes a lull in the game to fix his gold eyes on you. 

“How’s waiting, kitten?”

You only smile at him after exchanging a look with the other skeletons. “It’s fun, but I won’t be waiting for much longer.”

“Oh?” He takes one hand off of the controller and moves it to your knee. His touch is gentle. You can see the denim of your jeans through the hole in his palm. “And why not?”

“Because…” you lean forward slow, and your hand grazes his on your leg. There’s a smirk tugging at your lips, and laughter in your throat. In the moment you will your breath to stop shaking, for your heartbeat to still itself in its chest.

And then you finish, “Because you can’t play without the controller.”

By the time G distances himself from you and whips his head around, Stretch has stolen the remote and is back on the couch, doing everything he possibly can to kill the character. 

“Oh, that’s no fucking fair!” G exclaims, arching his body away from the bed to try and reach for the controller. “Fuck you guys! Especially you, _____, I expected better!” 

Despite the glare he’s attempting to give you, you’re laughing along with Stretch and Blueberry. Edge isn’t laughing, but you think you see the trace of a grin pulling at his sharp, chiseled skull. Ah, of course the first time you’d see him smile, it’d be at another person’s expense.

Stretch hands you the controller, as it’s your turn now. Eventually G huffs, settling next to you, albeit a few inches away than he was before. 

“Aw, G,” you tease, “Am I getting the silent treatment now?” 

He doesn’t answer you directly, but you think him mutter a " _Not for long_ ," under his breath.

However, the silence doesn’t last for nearly as long as any of you planned. The door to your room (that you must’ve forgotten to lock) swings open, slamming against the adjacent wall. You crane your neck to see who’s barged in.

“aye, bitches, what’s up?” Red swaggers into your bedroom, announcing himself raucously. He’s carrying 2 massive grocery bags on each arm, which he sets down beside the couch. 

“G’s mad at us,” you giggle, making sure the character on the screen is in a safe spot before turning your attention away. Why are games without pause buttons so evil?

The golden-eyed skeleton grumbles, “Only because they killed my character and ended my turn early.” 

“BUT IT WAS FUNNY!” Blueberry shouts. “AND NOW I CAN GET MY TURN FASTER!"

“oh shit,” Red snickers, then adds, to you, “dolly, you were a part of this?”

“She led the whole operation,” G answers for you. He’s keeping his hands to himself now. Well, it’s not like you didn’t _like_ when he touched your leg or anything…

“fuck, babe, didn’t think you were mean like that. that was pretty shitty of ya.” Red shrugs and says, "well, I guess bad girls gotta get punished…” 

Before you know it, he’s starting to boost himself up onto your bed. Well, the couch _is_ full, but… 

However, it seems as if the Good Lord has other plans for you, because Edge grabs Red and yanks him down by the leg. 

“DON’T BE RIDICULOUS!” He barks, “DO YOU THINK YOU CAN MISS A MEETING ENTIRELY, BE LATE TO THIS GATHERING, AND THEN WEASEL YOUR WAY UP ONTO THE BED WITH _____? FUCKING NONSENSE!

“then where am i supposed to sit?” Red asks through gritted teeth.

“YOU WILL SEAT YOUR PATHETIC ASS ON THE COUCH WITH ME, AND ONE OF THOSE TWO WILL MOVE TO SIT ON THE BED!” 

Blueberry is the first to hop up, opening up a seat. “YOU CAN TAKE MY SEAT, RED! I WILL _GLADLY_ SIT NEXT TO _____!” 

G, who is sitting by the accessible end of the bed, says, “Actually, you’ll be next to me. Because I’m still here.” And though he seemed irate with you, he seems to smirk at the fact that _he’s_ the one sitting next to you. 

Is that what he’s so smug about now? Or are you just overthinking this?

“B-BUT,” Blueberry stammers. “I’VE HARDLY SPENT ANY TIME WITH HER! YOU’VE GOTTEN TO SIT NEXT TO HER THIS WHOLE TIME!” The cyan lights in his eyes only get bigger, wavering in their sockets as he pouts. You have to think of something.

“You can come over and sit on this side of me, Blue,” you suggest. “You’d have to climb over our legs, but that’s not too much work.” 

“WOW! THAT’S A GREAT IDEA!” And before you know it, the shortest skeleton is scampering up to your bed, shouting, “PARKOUR!” He dives onto your comforter, landing on his stomach right beside G’s legs.

“Be careful,” G chides, “wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself."

If Blueberry hears G, he shows no sign of it, crawling over the skeleton’s skinny jeans with reckless abandon. He’s _really_ close to the edge of your bed, and it’s easily a five-foot drop to the floor. _Please don’t fall_ , you silently plead.

He gets to your legs and nearly stumbles over your thighs. You hover your hands above him, ready to catch him if he trips just a little too far. Thankfully, he makes it over you.

“MADE IT!” He exclaims, and collapses onto the bed, head landing right on your thighs. 

“Oh!” you yelp, caught off-guard by the impact of his skull on your lap. “Blue, I didn’t know you were going to lay on me like that!"

But he only looks up at you from his position, stars in his eyes. “IS THAT OKAY, _____? YOU’RE REALLY SOFT!”

When you glance up at Stretch to gauge his reaction, he’s looking at you with an equally curious expression. You partially expected him to want you to answer in some certain way or another.

“Sure, Blue, that’s alright,” you say, and before the words are even out of your mouth he’s snuggling himself into your lap, head right at the squishiest part of your thighs. When you glance over at G, he looks… conflicted.

“What all's in the bags, Red?” He inquires. 

“jus’ some stuff i picked up on errands. for the, uh, hangout. yeah. to share.” 

There’s 2 cases of beer, 2 frozen pizzas, and chips. He bought them all to share?

“Hell yeah, snacks.” Stretch grins, “and beer, too.” 

“Wait,” you pipe up, “You can buy alcohol? Already?”

All Red does is run that bright crimson tongue over his teeth. “babydoll, i’m two-hundred years old.”

Wow. Well, you knew most monsters were remarkably old, but… _wow_. Well, if that didn’t just solve the alcohol question perfectly. If Red is two-hundred, then how old are the other skeletons? Would it be rude to ask? 

You end up saying, “Pass me a beer, then.” 

You’re thrown a beer, as are Stretch and G. 

“Edge, Blue, would you like water instead?”

“IF YOU CAN FUCKING MANAGE IT,” Edge remarks, “I REFUSE TO PUT THIS SHIT IN MY BODY. IT IS, AS I’VE HEARD SOME HUMANS SAY, A TEMPLE, AND I WILL HONOR IT, UNLIKE YOU CRETINS!” 

“I CAN DRINK,” Blueberry chimes, “BUT TODAY I DECIDE NOT TO!” 

“That’s your choice, bro,” Stretch nods.

You tell Edge where to find the water, and he grabs a bottle for Blueberry as well. The beer isn’t too bad; it’s got a gentler taste than most. It’s easy for you to stomach.

What’s a lot harder, though, is playing Dark Souls with a skeleton laying in your lap and a beer in one hand. When you feel an arm around your shoulders, you look over at the owner. Perhaps G’s decided to reconcile after all. He’s smiling at you.

But then you hear the tell-tale music coming from the game system that signifies your character’s death.

“Gotcha back, angel,” he whispers, the raspy voice dancing its way into your ear. He doesn’t move his arm, though.

Well, that didn’t last long. You silently hand Edge the controller. Blueberry’s already had a turn, so he gets to wait until the remote makes another round. 

Until then, you have snacks and beer. 

Beer that seemingly never runs out, because every time you’re about to reach the bottom of your can, you pick it up and find that it’s full again. 

Within thirty minutes, Red walks in from the kitchen with molten-hot pizzas and a stack of paper plates. One is cheese and the other is pepperoni, and you make your choice with a side of chips before returning up to your lofted bed. Blueberry, after getting readjusted in your lap, dangles a slice of cheese pizza above his face before taking a bite much too large. 

“This is amazing,” G says as he watches the grease drip from his slice and onto his plate. He stares at the junk food as if it’s a total enigma. “A true pinnacle of human invention.” 

“I think you’ve had enough,” you giggle as you attempt to pull the beer can from his side.

“Says the girl who’s had three cans already,” G shoots back.

“Three? Excuse you, I’ve had one!” 

“Come on, honey,” Stretch replies, chuckling, “You’re smarter than that.” 

“CAN YOU BE QUIET?!” Edge screeches. He has the remote again. “I’M TRYING TO VANQUISH A FUCKING DRAGON HERE!” After an aggressive swig of water, he turns back to the game. He’s been dying quicker than anyone else.

“it’s gonna kill you again,” Red says.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

“ _I_ HAVE FAITH IN YOU, EDGE!” Blueberry exclaims.

How long have you been playing now? Your head’s starting to feel fuzzy. It’s a good thing you have pizza… 

Oh. Wait. You’re out of pizza.

That’s depressing. Luckily, to make you feel better, there’s a very precious skeleton in your lap, and another one right next to you that isn’t precious but is instead very… well, _very_. Since when is it so normal to have so many skeletons around you?

You pet Blueberry’s skull (Is he purring? He seems like he’s purring) while leaning on G’s shoulder. They’re both surprisingly comfortable. The tall skeleton fixes you with a lidded gaze, eyes resembling golden glass. 

You glance over to the couch. Red’s the first to catch your eye, giving you a smirk. 

“gettin’ tired, dolly?”

“No,” you yawn. “I’ve just been drinking a little and I stayed up later than usual last night.” 

“If you need us to leave so you can rest, honey, then we will,” Stretch says.

“Nooooo,” you whine, making grabby hands at the skeleton in the hoodie. “Stayyyyyy."

Blue quietly huffs, so you put one of your hands back on his skull. He’s a needy little monster. You can relate. And, to be fair, you _are_ comfortable right where you are.

Of course, though, as soon as you realize that you’re all settled in your spot, you feel a familiar sensation of discomfort. The beer’s gotten to you, all three (four?) cans of it.

“Excuse me for a sec,” you say quietly, trying to wiggle your way out of G’s grip and Blueberry’s cuddles. However, you’re not as agile as you perceived, and you end up stumbling over G’s long legs. You’re bent over his knees, facedown on your bed as you try to get up.

“Whoa there, kitten,” G chuckles, “Where are you off to, going so fast like that?” He’s trying to help you, too, but while you’re trying to scoot yourself up he’s got his hands on your legs and back to try steadying you. You end up not moving much, instead twisting your body to look at him. One thing you _certainly_ don’t need now is the heat creeping its way up your face, considering that you’re practically bent over in his lap. 

“I have to pee,” you say quietly. 

“ _Oh_ ,” he remarks, “I forgot you humans had to do that.” 

“Yes, we do. Can I get down now?” 

“Sure. Hold up.” He slowly cooperates with you so you can get back into a sitting position, and when you start to scoot off of the bed he calls, “Stretch, you got her from here? I don’t think she’s all that steady anymore.”

“Yup,” you hear, and before you know it, more skeleton hands are grabbing onto you. One arm goes around your waist, and the other moves to hold your hand as you step from your bed to your desk and then down to the floor.

“Thanks, Stretch,” you smile up at him. 

“You got it from here?” He glances over at the bathroom door across the room.

“i can help her over there,” Red pipes up. He’s got the controller in his hands, but he’s still able to look at the two of you while playing. Now that’s talent. 

“I’d rather you not,” Stretch replies.

“what the actual fuck, ashtray? so blue can get all up over her lap, and g can smooch the ever-loving shit out of her hands and hold her all the damn time, and you can get all handsy while helpin’ her down, and i’m the only one to go on an _actual_ date with her and i ain’t even trusted to help her to the bathroom?”

“Yup, that’s it,” is all Stretch says, punctuating his words with a brief nod. 

“That’s it!” 

You don’t even realize you’re talking until you hear your voice uttering words. Is that really what you sound like? You sound… wavy. Unsteady. Like your words are bouncing. Ha.

“Also,” you add, “it wasn’t a real date. Like, at all.” 

That’s all it takes for Red to narrow his sockets at you in a cutting glare, his gold tooth glinting with his sneer. The skeleton whips his head back to the television, attention now fully on the game. He’s completely silent. 

So Stretch walks you around the back of the couch and ensures that you get to the bathroom without completely busting your ass.

“You don’t need me in there or anything, right?” He asks as you stumble in. 

“Nah, I’m all good,” you reply, “but thanks, Stretch. You’re a sweetheart.”

The door shuts behind you, leaving you to your privacy. 

“She didn’t mean it like that, Red,” G remarks as soon as the door shuts. “You know she isn’t all there right now.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, dude,” Stretch says as he sits back on the couch. 

“BROTHER, DON’T DWELL ON SUCH TRIVIAL THINGS AS THAT INTOXICATED BROAD! I EXPECT MORE FROM YOU THAN THIS FUCKING NONSENSE!” 

“she’s not just some fuckin’ broad!” The crimson-clad skeleton snaps, whirling on his brother. “you know that, so stop sayin’ shit like that!” 

“OH?” Edge arches a socket almost patronizingly. “DON’T TELL ME YOU HAVE _FEELINGS_ FOR THAT HU-“

“Ssshhhhhh,” Stretch cuts him off, jerking his skull towards the bathroom. “As hard as it is, I’m gonna have to ask you to use your inside voice, Edgelord. Can you manage?” 

“HMPH,” is all Edge utters, crossing both his arms and legs. At least he’s quieter about it.

“But that brings us to an important problem,” G says, dropping his voice a few octaves as well. “It’s clear she’s not opposed to having multiples of us make passes at her at once. Either that, or she _seriously_ isn’t getting the situation.”

“Yeah,” Stretch nods, “I see that.”

“I THINK _____ LIKES ME,” Blueberry chimes in, and he’s at least a little quieter. His voice is something of a stage-whisper now.

“So what are we gonna do when things start to escalate? If she starts getting serious with one of us, do the rest drop it? I know we said this wasn’t a competition, but…” 

When G trails off, the room goes silent. The skeletons all exchange looks with one another.

Red breaks the silence. “well, this is prolly nutty as fuck, but who says we can’t _all_ be with her at once?”

Stretch’s skull contorts in disgust, and Red quickly amends, “not like _that_ , ashtray! and y’all say _i'm_ the fucked one in the group. you knew what i fuckin' meant.”

“So you’re saying…” G speaks slowly, weighing everything out in his head before continuing, “you’re saying that we could all, maybe, date her at once or something? Provided she’s down with it?” 

“well, yeah, exactly,” Red nods, “but only if babydoll’s down with it.”

“Pretty sure you have to be dating her to call her stuff like that,” Stretch remarks.

“hey, hey, we went on a date.”

“She doesn’t seem to think so.” 

“fuckin’ hush,” Red fires back, “that ain’t what she said earlier. and she may be about plastered now but that don’t mean she’s off the hook with me.”

“Thought you wanted her _on your hook_ ,” Stretch prods. 

“Doesn’t everyone, though?” G says.

“DISGUSTING,” Edge growls. 

Blueberry is distracted by the game, but Stretch discreetly nods to him so that Red and G can get the point. The tiny skeleton has yet to show any sexually-charged attraction to anyone whatsoever, and though you’ve proved to be quite the enigma thus far, Stretch doubts that you’ll change his brother’s mind.

“bet I can get her first,” Red snickers.

“Pfft,” Stretch snickers, “With our luck, it’ll be fuckin’ _Gaster_ that gets her into bed first.” 

G and Red get a kick out of that, the three of them laughing until they snort.

“God, can you _imagine_?” G says, smile still wide on his face. 

“Imagine what?” A feminine voice chimes in from across the room. You’ve emerged from the bathroom, and you’re wobbling against the doorway. 

All five of the skeletons turn to look at you. Your cheeks are flushed and rosy, and your eyes have that sheen of intoxication to them. Hair bouncing, you tilt your head to the side, cocking your hips. Even when you're drunk, you're just so... 

Such that none of them can manage to speak, or even breathe. 

“What’d I miss?”

  



	13. Spider and Fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Will you walk into my parlour?” said the Spider to the Fly,  
> 'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;  
> The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,  
> And I've a many curious things to show when you are there."
> 
>   
> 

  


Your skeleton friends leave your room a couple of hours later, once the snacks run out and the lot of you are either too drunk or too tired to continue gaming. After such a long, eventful day, you’re eager to get some time to yourself. 

Jade texts you to tell you that she’ll be spending the night with one of her band-mates, which you’re fine with. You and her will do something together tomorrow, hopefully. 

It’s important for you to make time for all of your friends, no matter your schedules. 

So you lay back in your bed, now alone for the remainder of the evening. Though you adore your new friends, silence really is nice every once in a while. You understand Green’s love for the quiet environment of the library, and Dings’ need to take a rain-check on your hangout today. After you sober up and shower, you wrap yourself in the softest towel you have. Netflix is going to be your only company for the night. 

However, binging television shows by yourself can only be so entertaining, and you’ve exhausted the streaming site’s Disney movie collection. 

By midnight, you’re restless.

You blow your hair until it’s bone-dry. Make a bowl of ramen and eat it by the sink. Contemplate texting a skeleton, but decide against it. You wouldn’t want to bother any of them, especially after spending the entire afternoon with most of them. And after all, this is supposed to be _your_ night. 

Maybe staying cooped up is the wrong idea if you’re so tired of doing nothing. And it’s so late, there probably isn’t anyone out.

You slip some clothes on, just a simple black number and some flats. You look nice, you suppose, for simply wandering about in the early morning. Your earbuds are in your bag, and you fish them out to plug them into your phone. The silver ring of keys is on the desk. 

Is that all you need for a simple walk? 

No. Wait.

A tiny can of pepper spray sits in the corner of your desk, a thin layer of dust on the red pump. You slip it onto your keychain. Eyeing it, you make sure that you know how to work it. Just in case.

Just in case.

Without another thought to the matter, you open your door and step out into the expanse of your dorm hallway. 

It’s silent here, beyond the reach of any voice behind any door. You bask in the peace of it all underneath the fluorescent lighting. The hall is long, a massive line to walk in as you think about nothing. Your earbuds are in, your music is playing… 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the shadows shift. The blank wall behind you is black, but for only a split second. You turn, and find nothing.

The light fixture above you flickers. It’s a trick of the eye, surely, a combination of your lack of sleep and your over-active imagination. 

You are alone. Completely and utterly alone.

The clock on the far wall reads 1:03. Turning the volume up on your music, you continue your walk down the corridor. It intersects with another hallway, forming a T-shape. 

You turn right, towards one of the stairwells, contemplating going up or down. Just as you do, you see a dark shape move down the left corridor. 

It appeared from nowhere. Did it come from behind you? You were certain that the hall was empty, and yet… 

You turn fully, to get a complete look, just before it disappears down the hall. It’s a figure, unmistakeably. The tallest, darkest silhouette you’ve ever seen. 

You’re not alone.

You never were. 

Dread creeps up your chest, over your shoulders, down your back.

But you’re curious.

You feel a tug on you, pulling you towards the figure. 

You follow.

It’s a little chase of both silence and speed. Just when you think you can get a good look at the shadow, it gets further away. The second you slink around a corner, the figure slips around the next. Whoever you’re following is fast, remarkably so. All you can do is try to keep pace without getting too close. 

When the statuesque figure slinks its way up the stairs you have to stay far behind. Even the slightest noise in the stairwell sends echoes up each floor. You hold your breath like you’ll die if you don’t. 

The familiar hallways turn into labyrinths in the night, all lit the same, all with their dead-ends, alcoves, and intersections. The walls are all the same color. It’s so easy for you to lose track of where you are, but you try to at least remember what level you are on.

You’re on the fourth floor when you notice just how slender that silhouette is. Skinnier than you, surely, at least in the legs and waist. If it has those body parts, that is. That’s all you’re able to discern, even after quite a while of chasing. 

How long has it been? 

It’s 3 a.m.

How in the world have you followed this creature for two hours? It hardly feels like fifteen minutes have gone by. You can’t have been out this long. You can’t have been. The clock on your phone is wrong. The clock in the hallway is wrong. There’s no way you’ve simply been wandering for two straight hours. 

This isn’t possible. 

You move to turn around, but find yourself walking further into the halls. Further towards the shadow that’s been driving you to chase it-no, him. 

Him. It feels right, in your mind. You simply know. 

You keep on. 

On the sixth floor, you round a corner and come face-to-face with a windowed alcove. All floors have them, with a view overlooking the city below. For a moment you stare, transfixed by the deep purple of early morning. Streetlamps flicker in the darkness like beacons, calling out to whoever will see. 

You see your own reflection in the glass. Despite everything, it’s still you. There’s your mouth, neutral on your face. And your skin, it’s flushed, likely from all the walking. Your eyes are nearly washed out by the darkness outside. You look at your figure; your curves, your legs, your shoulders. 

You look so small, compared to the reflection of the looming figure looking back at you. 

Behind you.

You can’t breathe.

Your eyes snap up to his reflection, as nothing else in you can seem to move. His clothes are so dark, but his face is so pale, and there’s a large crack running up his…

His skull.

He’s a-

He looks like-

He’s gone. 

Through the glass of the window you watch him leave like a wisp in the wind, here and then gone. You stay like that, stock-still in the alcove, for another moment, just to let your heart calm its beating. You’re nearly afraid to turn back around, but you do, and you let out a breath when you discover that he truly is gone. 

You no longer feel that tug, that mysterious call that’s driven you to spend your night following him. Three hours. You’ve been out here for three hours, chasing some creature with some pull on you, who looks just like…

He looks too much like Gaster. 

You know his name. 

You should go to your room. 

When you step off of the elevator, you’re realizing just how exhausted you are. You never expected to spend _so long_ walking around, and you didn’t realize until now just how much it’s been wearing on you. An ache pulses at your legs. The bottoms of your feet almost burn in your flats. Your room is just down the hallway.

And so is he. 

The skeleton stands at the end of the hall, straight and towering to over seven feet of height. The long black lab-coat makes him appear even taller. He’s wearing a deep red sweater underneath, striking against the pearlescent white of his bones. Now that you see him clearly, he actually has _two_ gashes on his skull, both deeper than the ones you’ve seen on the other monsters’ heads. 

He’s staring at you with eyes the color of wine. And he’s smiling at you with teeth like porcelain. 

You should go to your room right now. 

But then he speaks, and his voice is sweet, low, and smooth like a cello. 

“Are you going to come in, or would you rather continue following me?” 

“At four in the morning?” You find yourself saying back. You shouldn’t be speaking to him, Gaster told you not to, Dings told you he was horrible, you shouldn’t, you shouldn’t. 

You’re walking further from your room and closer to his. 

“Oh, but I’ve kept you up so long, and I’ve been a _wretched_ playmate in your little game. It’s only fair that I give you some sort of closure, perhaps over tea?” He’s eloquent, incredibly so. 

“Wait,” you ask, “so you’re not completely and utterly _disturbed_ by the fact that I followed you for a solid three hours?” 

A laughter like syrup comes out of his mouth. It’s sweet, and dark, and decadent. 

“Oh, no, my dear; quite the contrary, actually. In fact, I find it rather _interesting_. You know, I once thought humans were such simple, mundane creatures. However, you’re such an _fascinating_ little thing that my curiosity can’t help but be piqued.” 

“Um… thank you?” Your eyebrows furrow.

“There’s no need.” The tall skeleton opens the door to room 236, holding it with one gloved hand and reaching for yours with the other. “You’re simply so intriguing. Will you come in and speak with me?” 

You can’t go in. After all that Gaster and Dings have said, after all that’s been implied, part of you isn't sure if you’ll ever come out.

And yet he’s been kind. Proper. He hasn’t once touched you, or displayed any malevolence. The only thing remotely alarming that you’ve noticed is the fact that he stows away in his room all day and wanders your dorm hall during the night. 

“But we haven’t even introduced ourselves,” you point out, daring to look up at him. “Technically, I’d be walking into a stranger’s home. That’s both a rude and uncomfortable situation.”

“Ah,” he clicks his tongue, “you’re correct. How rude of me to forget my manners. I’m beguiled to finally meet you, _____.” 

“Likewise.” It’s not until you take his extended hand to shake it that you realize you never told him your name.

“And how have the others told you to address me?” 

“Wings,” you tell him. 

Is that not his name? They all referred to him with that. Is it a nickname, perhaps for something longer? They have names like Sans, and Papyrus, so why not something like-

“That will do,” he says. “Now, won’t you come in?” He’s still holding onto your hand, gently, but firmly. 

You need to go to your room right this instant. 

Instead, your feet lead the way into Wings’ room, stepping slowly onto the unfamiliar flooring. Some inquisitive desire inside of you is satisfied with your choice. The skeleton closes the door behind you both. You hear it click shut. 

The room is pristine and without clutter. Deep red curtains cover the window, matching most of the lavish, yet minimalist, decor. You’ve never seen a dorm room look richer. Where did he get these things? He never seems to leave, at least not during the day. 

“Online ordering is a human advancement that I’ve come to appreciate,” He says from behind you. Was it that obvious what you were thinking? “Make yourself comfortable, my dear.” 

You take a seat at the center of the room, dragging one of the black club chairs over to meet the coffee table. Unconsciously, your legs cross, and your hands fold in your lap. You gently set your phone and keys (with the pepper spray attached) on the table. You’re quiet, unsure of what to say or do now that you’ve found him, now that you’re here.

Wings is setting a kettle on the stove, his back to you. The long coat he wears looks worn at the ends, but it meticulously fits his body in sharp, flaring angles. You think you hear him humming to himself, softly, barely audible even when you incline your ears. 

A great part of you is still uneasy. After all, you were so vehemently warned against doing this very thing. He’s seemed so inviting, though, and you’re still so curious.

“I know what the others say about me,” he says suddenly, turning his head in your direction. “They call me vile, incorrigible, an _anathema_. They told you to stay away from me.”

When he looks for your affirmation, you nod your head, almost begrudgingly. Well, you aren’t going to lie to him about something he already knows, now, are you?

He sighs, “They may speak how they like, but there is something to be said for a ragtag group of skeletons who exiles one of their own kind.” 

“That’s true,” you say. _They_ excluded _him_? Did he even do anything wrong first?

You’re about to inquire about that when Wings asks you, “Tell me this, dear, do you trust me?”

Your mouth goes dry. As your words fail you and your thoughts conflict, your eyes flick up to his. The gaze you’re getting is completely neutral, neither angry nor hopeful. His mouth is but a flat line upon his skull.

“Your silence speaks volumes enough,” he says. “And with good reason. You’re inclined to want to believe your friends. In addition, you should never trust someone whom you’ve just met.” And though he’s smiling at you warmly, his tone is cold. “You never know what they’re hiding.”

An icy shiver runs up your back and caresses your shoulders. 

And then the kettle whistles. 

Wings brings it over, along with two teacups and a wooden box of assorted teas. There's a bowl of sugar cubes that he sets on the coffee table as well. He sits across from you in another black chair.

“May I pour your cup for you?” He asks, a black-gloved hand hovering over the kettle. 

_You should never trust someone whom you’ve just met. You never know what they’re hiding._

You glance down to the teapot, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. 

Wings sighs, “My dear, you watched me fill this clean, empty kettle with water, set it on the stove, boil the water, and bring it here. I am letting you pick out your own bag of tea from an assortment of individually-sealed packets. The sugar cubes come straight from a box, which I will procure for you if you insist on it. I will pour my water from the same kettle as yours, and if you would like, then I will take a sip of your drink after you’ve prepared it to your liking. I am not attempting to poison you, drug you, or anything of the sort.” 

How does he manage to know what you’re thinking, over and over again? You’re almost embarrassed by how far he just went to ensure that you know you’re safe.

Just to drive the point he adds, “Oh, and why would I poison such an enchanting, fascinating thing as yourself?” 

You’re flushed, pink spreading across your cheeks as you dare to meet his eyes. You don’t expect him to be staring back at you, much less with that smile. It’s beginning to look more charming than predatory to you. 

You let him pour your water while you pick out a tea that suits your tastes. The sugar cubes are a novel touch to the affair. He tells you to take as many as you’d like. Wings fixes his own drink, and you watch the tea steep into the water in amber clouds. 

“Now, you inquisitive little creature, do tell me about yourself.”

You rub at your arms. How is it so cold in here? “What do you want to know?” 

The skeleton leans forward. “Everything. You’re by far one of the most _interesting_ humans I’ve ever seen.”

“What makes me so interesting?” You ask. 

“To begin, your behavior and mannerisms are so utterly peculiar. You’re friendly, but suspicious of others. You will have tea with me, but question if I’ve poisoned it. You have avoided coming into contact with me for a week, and suddenly you’re so interested. You followed me tonight, and yet there isn’t a doubt in my mind that you were utterly terrified. Why?” He gazes at you, transfixed on your face.

“I… I guess I was just curious.” It’s the best answer you can give.

“Ah, you’re filled with curiosity. Likewise, my dear, I could say the same for myself.” He chuckles a bit. “It seems you and I may be more alike than either of us anticipated.” 

Wings continues to ask you questions of all sorts, from what you’re studying to your outlook on life. He seems to eat up every single detail you give him, even the minuscule things that you don’t think matter. Everything you say gets a reaction. He smirks, hums, chuckles, and then sometimes those pitch-dark sockets will quirk upwards in inquisition. 

You try to ask him things, but the skeleton doesn’t seem interested in himself at all. Everything is answered bluntly, and then he follows up with an immersive, loaded question for you to answer. The two of you go through several cups of tea together, and you begin to enjoy your time with him.

The sun is peeking through the window when you realize you can hardly keep your eyes open.

“Wings,” you sigh, “I think I need to go back to my room. I haven’t gotten any sleep.”

“Oh, do stay for just a moment more.” The monster places one of his hands atop yours on the coffee table. “I simply adore your company.” 

“I know, I know, and I’m sorry,” you yawn halfway through your sentence, “but I’m just so exhausted. I can’t even sit up straight anymore. I need…” another yawn, “…I need sleep.”

“I understand that. I am aware that you humans need considerable amounts of sleep, and yet I can’t help but wish you would stay and continue to enrapture me.” Wings takes a glove off, and you watch as he slowly, gently places his palm against yours. 

His hands are scarred. You see the tiny scratches that riddle the bone, and of course there’s the unavoidable holes in the center of his palms. His fingers are longer than yours, so much that he can curve and fold them over the tips of yours. 

“So odd…” he whispers, regarding both your face and hand at the same time. You feel him put more pressure against your skin with a tighter hold. “So soft, so fragile. Humans are so very _interesting_. And that reaction...” 

Wings moves his hand suddenly, deftly catching your wrist in his grip. He pulls your hand up and then, bending down, presses it against his mouth. You feel his bone against your skin, briefly, before he moves to kiss the back of your hand. 

Your breath hitches. 

From the way he looks up at you then, eyes wild and smile slick, you know that he heard you. He stands and walks you to the door after you fumble to gather your things. 

“Thank you for the tea, Wings,” you say as you duck under his arm, “and goodnight.” 

“Good _morning_ , my peculiar little pet.” He bids. “Do come back soon.” 

When you look over your shoulder, he’s looking right back.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> End Notes:
> 
> The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,  
> For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again.
> 
>   
> 


	14. Baking and Synth-Pop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs in this chapter are "You Make My Dreams" by Hall and Oates, and "Talking in Your Sleep" by The Romantics!

  


You end up sleeping until noon. 

It would’ve been for longer, provided Jade didn’t walk in and wake you, but you suppose you’ve slept all you can. After all, you didn’t return to your room until about 5:30 this morning. 

You were in Wings’ room until 5:30.

You actually met Wings. That wasn’t a dream, nor a sugar-coated nightmare. To add to the confusion, you still aren’t sure what to think of the skeleton.

In a groggy haze you opt to not tell anyone about that. You doubt that any of your friends, especially the monsters, would think kindly of the decisions you made last night. As far as they know, you still have yet to meet that elusive eleventh skeleton.

“You look tired,” your roommate says as she glances up at you.

“Thanks,” you groan, burying your head back into the pillow. Your sheets feel so nice, and so warm.

Maybe if you just… closed your eyes a little bit…

“_____!” Jade yells, and before you know it you’re up again. You try to blink the sleepiness out of your eyes as you fix her with a very droopy expression.

She sighs, “Okay, well I was going to ask this anyway before I came in and found you clocked out-“

“Shush,” you interrupt.

“You first, bitch,” she shoots back, and then continues, “But anyways, there’s this cafe down the road that just opened. Eric, y’know, my bassist, he went the other day and said it was pretty good.”

“Ooh,” you say.

“Yeah, exactly. We could go, you could get some caffeine and wake the fuck up, and then we’d stuff our face with pastries.” 

“Oh my god, yes. It’s a date,” you say, exaggerating a swoon as you lean off your bed and grab onto Jade’s hand. You hold it too gingerly to be serious, batting your eyelashes at your friend.

“Gay,” she remarks, eyes on your interlocked fingers. 

“You’re one to talk,” you reply, “You don’t like _anyone_.”

Jade shrugs, “True. I try to think about sex and relationships sometimes, y’know, just to see if I really don’t, and it’s just… gross.” 

“Hey, it’s okay to feel like that. You know what’s not gross, though? Coffee and cute little snack foods,” you say, and then get up to get ready.

It’s a quiet little cafe, nestled in brick at a street corner. Inside, it smells calming, lightly sweet. A few patrons are here, but not enough to feel claustrophobic. The menu is simple and seemingly-promising. It’s different from your typical coffee chain corporation in a comforting sort of way. 

You order your drink, as well as a couple of pastries. Jade orders different things from you, and when you settle into mismatched arm chairs at a corner table you split your treats to share. 

“This is so cute,” you remark, eyeing your plate. “I don’t know what to try first.” 

Jade nods, then takes a drink of her coffee. Her fingers curl around the handle of the mug as she tips it higher. The coffee’s steaming, and yet she’s gulping like it’s ice water. When she puts the cup down, a thin layer of foam coats her upper lip and septum piercing. She’s made her own mark on the mug, with her dark lipstick lining the rim.

“That good?” You ask. 

She only nods before taking another hearty sip.

Yours is good too, a smooth latte that has just the right amount of sweetness to it. A heart has been poured onto the coffee’s surface with cream, but you drink it away. 

“No skeletons today?” Jade asks, eyeing your phone. It’s been buzzing away for the past week, but thus far today, it’s somewhat quiet. 

“Not yet, at least,” you reply. “I hung out with a few of them yesterday, and you know, there’s the three of them that have gone up to the capitol.” 

“Politics piss me off,” she snorts. “I doubt that they want to get into it; after all, they’ve only been on the surface for about a month.” 

“Papyrus seemed to be looking forward to it. Sans and Gaster, though…” Shaking your head, you laugh a little, and then take a bite of your croissant. It’s warm, and flaky, and just so buttery. You’d let a croissant like this clog your arteries any day.

Jade’s tearing into her own food. For a girl as skinny as a supermodel, she sure can eat a lot. You didn’t even know pastries could be eaten that aggressively. 

“So is Papyrus the tall one?”

“Which tall one?” You ask her, a smirk on your face.

“Ugh, they all kind of look the same to me,” she sighs. “Is that bad? That sounds bad.” 

“Alright, then,” you say, “you’re getting a crash course on skeletons today.”

“Oh, joy,” she mumbles. 

By the time you leave the cafe, you think Jade’s fully educated on the skeletons of the second floor. All of the food you purchased ended up being delicious. Your roommate even ended up ordering a second cup of coffee. You feel awake, too, as the two of you walk up to your room. You take the steep stairs without a problem. 

You’re prepared to sit up in bed with some video games when your phone buzzes.

_Dings: Is your day going well, _____? *smiling cat emoji*_

“Which one was that?” Jade asks from her bed. 

“Dings.”

“Wait, the one that you don’t know, but everyone thinks is a psycho?” She furrows her eyebrows. 

“No, that’s _Wings_. I don’t know him, so he doesn’t have my number.” You try to keep your face neutral as you tell her this. You couldn’t tell her the truth, so you told her as much as you’re _supposed_ to know about the monster. 

“Okay, good. Because if everyone says he’s nuts, then fuck him, honestly.” 

“Uh, yeah, exactly,” you chuckle. “Fuck Wings.”

You switch your focus to texting. 

_You: It is! I went to a cafe with Jade (my roommate in case you forgot lmao) and ate too much pastries._

“This is _Dings_ ,” you say, holding up your phone. “He’s super tall, and he rooms with Gaster, and he’s really sweet and uses cat emojis and just kind of seems happy to be alive. Remember?” 

“Shit, I’ll get it eventually.”

“It’s kind of like when Winnie first got into K-Pop idols and we spent weeks trying to get all their names right. Remember?”

“I still can’t get them right,” Jade grumbles.

Your phone buzzes again.

_Dings: That sounds delightful! Did they have macarons, by any chance? They’re my favorite._

_You: No macarons, but just about everything else._

_Dings: *gasping cat emoji* This is a tragedy!_

You stifle a laugh at his dramatics. You’ve hardly talked to him in-person, considering your busy schedule and his need for me-time, but he seems to have an over-the-top personality. It’s kind of cute. 

_You: Not a lot of places around here sell them tbh_

_Dings: This won’t do, _____. This calls for desperate measures!_

_You: ????_

_Dings: I need you to come to my room, stat!_

He… needs you to come over?

Jade must see your expression, because she asks, “What’d he say? You didn’t get another ghost dick, did you? If we have to keep a ghost dick tally, _____, I swear…” 

“No, no ghost dick, nothing like that,” you shake your head, “He just wants me to come over.” 

“Do you want to go?” She asks.

“Yeah, I do. He seems fun.” You get off of your bed and start to find your shoes. They’re on the floor in a pile. Jade keeps talking as you lace them up.

“Then go if you want. As long as he’s not creepy. Don’t go to a creeper’s room.” 

“Yeah, of course,” you nod. “I’ll see you later!” Then you grab your things and head for the door.

Dings opens the door as soon as you knock. He’s wearing an heart-patterned apron over his usual sweater vest ensemble. 

“Do come in, dear,” he greets, holding the door for you. “We’re still working on cosmetics and decorations here, you know, but please make yourself at home.” 

Since the last time you were in here, a light purple loveseat has been added to the room. You put your keys and wallet on it, and then after seeing Dings in his socks, slip out of your own shoes as well. After you put them down, you return to the kitchen where Dings is standing. There’s a carton of eggs on the counter, and a bag of almond flour… 

“Are we making macarons _ourselves_? Like from _scratch_?” You glance up at the skeleton in the apron, who is beaming down at you. 

“What, like it’s hard?” 

You know for a fact that it is, indeed, hard. There’s the sifting of the flour, and the consistency of the egg whites, and then the entire process of making merengue… After too many failed attempts, you’ve resigned yourself to accepting that macarons are the devil of the baking world.

But you don’t want to hurt Dings’ feelings by telling him that. He seems sensitive.

Instead you ask, “Have you ever tried to make them before?”

“Ah, well, not exactly,” he replies, face flushing a pale peach tone. “But I _have_ been told by several people that I do have excellent baking skills. So it wouldn’t hurt to attempt them.”

He has baking experience. Maybe this won’t be too terrible. 

So you sigh, smile up at him, and say, “Okay. Let’s do this.” 

Dings, as it turns out, has his own way of doing things when he cooks. To begin with, he plays music while he works. After a few songs, you’re beginning to figure out that he has a thing for 80’s pop. 

“It’s just happy music,” he says when you ask him about it. “It’s upbeat and exciting, and it’s odd, yes, but perhaps that’s why I like it so much.” He moves his feet a bit as he works, sifting the flour several times. 

You’re put to the task of separating the egg whites. It’s messy, but you think you manage it decently. After you do that, you set the bowl to the side so that they can get to room temperature. While you’re waiting on Dings to finish his part, you grab the other ingredients. 

However, you’re not expecting him to start singing to the next song that comes on.

_”What I want, you’ve got_

_And it might be hard to handle_

_Well, like the flame that burns the candle_

_The candle feeds the flame…”_

You look over at him, and he doesn’t seem to have a care in the world. He bobs his head from side to side, smiling at nothing in particular. After he finishes sifting flour and confectioner’s sugar together, he empties it into a bowl. He catches you staring, though, and turns to face you, still crooning away. 

_”…Oh yeah, well, well you_

_You make my dreams come true…"_

Dings is _singing to you_. You find yourself giggling and blushing at the absurdity of it all, and part of you wants to look away but you don’t. His eyes are brilliantly bright, one orange and one sky blue. Shit, he’s so cute.

_”Twist and shout my way out_

_And wrap yourself around me_

_’Cause I ain’t the way you found me_

_And I’ll never be the same, oh yeah…”_

He’s leaning forward with an elated grin on his skull, reaching an arm around you…

And then he takes the bowl of egg whites, pats your head, and continues with his cooking. All you can do is stand there, stunned and giddy all at once. You’re fairly certain that your face is red.

“Cute little human,” he muses as the song reaches an instrumental. “I’m glad you’re here with me today. Baking is hardly any fun by yourself.”

“And it’s really fun with you,” you tell him with a grin.

Your macarons end up looking nice when they go into the oven. Dings mixed in raspberry jam and food dye, making them a pretty pink color. You bop and sway to the 80’s tunes while making the frosting. It’s much simpler, and Dings has the idea of adding jam to that as well. He’s definitely creative in his cooking, that’s for certain. 

You put the now-pink frosting in the fridge to set.

“I think they’ll come out lovely,” the skeleton remarks.

“I hope so,” you say. You were definitely more precise this time. In addition, Dings seemed to have absolute confidence in what he was doing, despite never baking macarons before. “At least we can relax now.”

You’d expect Dings to have taken his apron off by now, but he’s still wearing the heart-patterned garment. It’s ridiculous and adorable all at the same time, to see this seven-foot tall skeleton wearing something so frilly over business clothes. You smile every time you look at him.

Or maybe it’s just him that’s making you smile.

You’re about to sit on the loveseat when he pulls you away from it, and instead goes back to his speakers with you in tow. He turns the music up louder.

_”I can hear the things that you’re dreaming about_

_When you open up your heart and the truth comes out...”_

And then he pulls you closer to him and spins you under his arm.

_”…You tell me that you want me_

_You tell me that you need me_

_You tell me that you love me…"_

He holds both your hands as you groove to the beat, socks sliding across the tile in the kitchen. He’s a smooth dancer, guiding you both across the floor to the tune. It’s a good song for you to sway your hips to, and you try to, but Dings just keeps spinning you and spinning you. 

_”...When I hold you in my arms at night_

_Don’t you know you’re sleeping in the spotlight_

_And all your dreams that you keep inside_

_You’re telling me the secrets that you just can’t hide…"_

You’re dizzy as you sway with him, leaning on the skinny frame of your skeleton friend as you both laugh. You barely come up to his chest, he’s so tall, but you’re not intimidated in the least. He holds you gingerly, not even budging when you almost fall. 

_”...Everything about you is a mystery_

_You tell me that you want me_

_You tell me that you need me…”_

The minutes tick by, and so do the songs. It’s easy to lose track when you’re slipping about the kitchen in your socks. The two of you reach a point where you’re hardly even dancing anymore, instead swinging your arms and swaying playfully off-beat. 

“You’re such a delight,” Dings remarks, twirling you for perhaps the hundredth time. “I could do this for hours, but you look exhausted, you pretty little thing.” 

Your face is red, and not just from the dancing. You’re about to say something when the oven timer goes off.

“Stay back, dear. I can’t have you burning your hands.” He grabs an oven mitt that matches his apron, and after making sure you’ve distanced yourself a few feet away, he opens the oven and takes the sheet pan out. It’s placed atop a cooling rack to give the pan air between itself and the counter. 

And the macarons themselves?

“They look perfect,” you gape. They’re all uniform circles, and the pink food coloring has baked into a beautiful shade. Because of the wax paper, they’ll come off the pan easily, but first they need to cool.

That doesn’t stop Dings from scraping a cookie off of the pan, breaking it in half, and spooning dollops of cold frosting on it. 

He hands one of the halves to you. “Cheers!” 

You shove it all into your mouth at once and nearly moan at the taste. 

“Oh god,” you mumble, mouth full. “It’s so good.”

“Agreed,” the skeleton nods, smiling at you. 

“I can’t wait till we can get them cooled down and actually sandwiched together,” you beam, “Seriously, Dings, you did amazing.”

“ _We_ did amazing, you mean,” He replies. 

You laugh, “But you did most of the work. I’ve tried baking these too many times by myself before and they’ve never come out this good.” 

“Hush, now,” he playfully scolds. “I have a question for you.” 

“Yes?” You turn to face him, cocking your head. 

He seems to falter a bit, looking away for a moment. His hands wring over themselves as his cheeks turn that peach color. 

When he does speak up, he’s quiet. “I’ve had fun with you today and you’re immensely cute. Is it alright if I kiss your forehead?” 

“Sure,” you reply, face breaking out into a smile that won’t seem to go away.

Dings brings you close to him, hands on your cheeks. It’s a gentle hold; he always is, you’ve noticed. His kiss is soft on your forehead, a tender brush against your skin. He smells lightly sweet, barely there, almost like vanilla, but chalkier somehow. The way he hums and smiles against you is endearing, comforting, and completely welcomed. It makes you want to sing synth-pop, if only to hear him more.

And it makes waiting for the macarons worth it, as long as you can spend time with him.

  



	15. Bad Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two songs in this chapter are "Sunshine" by Toadies, and "Bad Things" by Jace Everett <3

  


The rest of the weekend goes by smoothly. You end up sharing the macarons you make with the other skeletons, who accept the treats graciously. The rest of the batch ends up in a Tupperware container in your fridge. You eat a couple at a time, savoring them.

On Monday, you enjoy Creative Writing with Green again. He’s caught up with the curriculum fairly quickly, and soon you’re firing ideas back and forth to each other throughout class. It’s nice to have someone to sit next to. It also helps that he’s good-looking and eloquent, with his lovely eyes and picturesque words. 

And on Tuesday?

“_____, YOU’RE PIXELATED AND FUZZY AGAIN!” 

On Tuesday, you video-chat with Papyrus. 

“think it’s just the signal, bro,” Sans says from his spot on a floral-print couch. “i’d tell you how it works, but my memory’s a _blur_.”

“SANS, I CAN’T TAKE THESE PUNS ANYMORE. IT’S ENOUGH BEING STUCK IN THIS HOTEL ROOM ALL DAY, BUT YOUR JOKES ARE GOING TO PUSH ME OVER THE EDGE!" 

The shorter skeleton only shrugs. “i dunno what to _hotel_ you, my dude."

“AAAAAH!” Papyrus runs off-screen, and you hear the sound of a door sliding open.

“Please don’t tell me he’s going to jump off of the balcony because of a pun,” you say to Sans. 

“doubt it. we’re nine stories up. i’d be _floored_ if he did.” 

“Christ, the puns. Why do they seem worse than normal?” 

“oh, i use 'em as a coping mechanism for my stress and insecurities,” he deadpans. 

It’s not until you fix him with a horrified expression that he busts out laughing. You look on as he clutches where his stomach would be, leaning back into the couch cushions.

“oh god, your face. now _that_ was fucking funny,” he snickers. 

“Mhm, sure, har-de-har,” you say, rolling your eyes. “By the way, how’s the conference going? Papyrus was telling me how _interesting_ it was.” 

“oh, it sucks,” the skeleton snorts. “we’re either getting judged or patronized at any given time. the politicians are constantly either feelin’ bad for our conditions, or actin’ like we’re gonna rip them limb from limb. paps just goes to the socials and dinners and whatnot, shows off, helps us look good. he ain’t seeing most of the ugly stuff."

“Yikes.”

“and by the way, most of your world leaders are kind of shit. like no offense, but yeah, yikes.”

“I know. Sorry.” Despite the fact that you understand and agree with him, your face burns with embarrassment. Leave it to the politicians and diplomats to make humanity look shitty. 

“but yeah,” Sans shrugs, “we’ve got this gala thing or whatever tonight, and I’ve been tryna stay out of all that pleasantry social shit, but gaster’s insisting that i go to this one.”

“You gotta wear a suit?” 

“yep.” he walks across the room, opens the closet, and pulls out a sport-coat and slacks. “i can try it on for you, and you can tell me if it-“

“Noooo,” you drone.

But he still finishes, “- _suits_ me,”

“Ugh. You suck.” 

“you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Sans smirks at you, and before you can even question him he walks off-screen, probably over to tell Papyrus something. The balcony door shuts, and you’re seemingly left alone.

You don’t think things can get any more awkward.

Then the bathroom door opens, and out steps Gaster. Apparently, he’s just showered.

He has a white towel wrapped around his midsection, leaving the rest of his body exposed. The tall skeleton doesn’t even seem to notice your face on the computer screen, instead going about his business. His bones fit together so smoothly, pearlescent and sleek and still dripping with water. When he moves it’s always a fluid motion, refined and dominant in every aspect.

Should you be looking at him like this? You probably shouldn’t, at least not without announcing yourself.

But he’s just so beautiful. You can’t help but stare at his form as he walks to fish something from a dresser drawer. He’s still got his slender fingers curled around the towel when he pulls a garment from the drawer. 

It’s a pair of black boxer briefs. 

And they’re quite big. 

But then he turns, and his violet eyes land on the computer screen, on _you_. He gasps, and then you gasp, and then he blushes, and you blush. Through your panic, all you can manage to do is end the call.

You feel your sins crawling on your back, and anxiety clinging to your shoulder blades, and embarrassment tickling the nape of your neck. He isn’t going to call you back, is he? Or text you? Oh god, what are Sans and Papyrus going to say? 

Fortunately, they say nothing about the incident, at least not to you. Papyrus texts as normal, and Sans sends you sporadic messages throughout the evening. Perhaps they explained to Gaster that they were on a video call with you, and he’s decided to drop it. 

You can only hope. 

On Wednesday, you’re attempting to do homework and failing miserably. You sit at your desk, head propped on elbows as you try to make sense of the reading for psychology. The words blur together into elaborate sentences that just seem pretentious when you read them. You end up going over each paragraph repeatedly, to no avail. It’s been over an hour and you can’t retain a thing.

You’re about to go insane. You even think you hear music coming from somewhere.

Oh wait, you actually do. There’s the faint sound of a guitar echoing from the hallway. You’re not _that_ crazy. 

Since when did you have a guitar player on your hall?

As usual, your curiosity starts to get the best of you, and you figure that you could use a break anyway. It’ll be like a little concert, maybe. At the very least, you can listen, or pay the player a compliment. Whoever they are, they sound good. 

So you step into the hallway, keys in hand. The music’s louder from here, and you think you can hear singing now as well. On the other end of the hallway, a boy is poking his head out of his door. He was in your freshman English class, you think (what’s his name, Josh? Daniel? Something generic).

“Hey, you know who’s playing that?” Possibly-Josh asks. “It isn’t half-bad.” 

You turn towards the source of the sound, and finding that it’s the other way, tell Maybe-Daniel, “It might be one of the monsters. I can go see which one it is.” 

Perhaps-Chris raises an eyebrow. “You know them?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “They’re my friends.” With that, you turn and leave Probably-John to whatever it is he’s doing. 

As you walk further down the hall, the singing gets clearer, the guitar crisper.

_"...Sometimes, it’s too much, too much_

_To watch you shaking_

_Spinning off again…”_

You’re pressing your ear to every door to make sure you have the right one when Green steps out of room 230. The music gets even louder, and you know you’ve found the source of the music. You glance up at Green, giving him a warm smile. 

He only sighs. “I’m off to the library, to enjoy the _silence_.” The skeleton holds his door open. “If you’d like to humor him with an audience, though, be my guest.” 

“Have fun,” you say, and step into the room. 

You know by now that G’s the one playing, and now it’s obvious that it’s his voice you’ve heard, but you’re still awed when you see him sitting on his bed, guitar in hand, singing and strumming without a care in the world.

_”...Sunshine, make me a happy man_

_Say you’ll only be mine_

_I’ve tried to get you out of my mind, my mind_

_But I can taste it_

_Your lips pressed to mine_

_And your embrace_

_It would be so fine, so fine…"_

He’s oblivious to your presence, and though you’re struck by his talent you don’t make a sound, for fear of disturbing him. So you stay stock-still, listening to his melodic, strong voice carry through the room. His strums on the guitar are rough, yet precise, and the way that he moves his phalanges across the frets beckons years of practice.

At some point during an instrumental, G glances up, and the second he sees you his eyes flash a bright gold. He gapes for a moment, but never stops playing, and soon his expression relaxes into that easygoing grin that you’re used to seeing on him. His body moves with every strum. Each riff is flawless, even as he gazes straight at you. 

_”...Sunshine, stay a while with me_

_And I will be your man_

_No one can make you feel_

_Like I know I can…"_

G’s wanton voice goes almost completely guttural, and the way he looks at you when he growls is enough to take the breath out of your body.

_”...My hands may be steady_

_But my heart is in my throat_

_I would give up anything_

_To hold you_

_Oh, sunshine…”_

When the song fades out, you remember to breathe. The skeleton sets his guitar down, and as the last reverberating strums go quiet he turns his complete attention to you. Your face feels hot.

“Hey there, sunshine.” G says, leaning back on his bed. “Didn’t know I’d be getting an audience, much less a cute one, but I’m not complaining.” 

You can’t help but giggle at that. Why are you so giggly? “Okay, but you’re really really good.” 

“You flatter me, angel.” He shakes his head, chuckling a bit. “Nah, I haven’t played since we got up here. ‘Rusty’ would be an understatement.” 

Does he really think he’s out of practice? He sounded just fine to you; in fact, you didn’t notice anything off about the way he played or sang.

“I thought it sounded good. And if you think you need practice I’m always down to listen while you do it.” 

“Well, alright. I was planning on playing a bit more, so if you wanna sit down, then we can get back to it.” He scoots over on his bed, patting the spot next to him. “I sat on yours, now you come sit on mine.”

So you sit on the bed, feeling the black comforter compress under you. Green’s bed across the room has a quilt instead, and it looks handmade. The two brothers have stark contrasts in their decorating preferences: while Green’s side of the room looks homey and soft, G’s half looks to be decorated more for style than for comfort. He’s stuck to a monochromatic black-and-grey theme, and he’s pinned posters and old vinyl records to the walls. 

G picks up his guitar again. The instrument grooves over his legs, and he holds it close to him. “Alright, kitten, I got another one for you. You ready?” 

You nod, crossing your legs and putting all your attention on him as he starts to strum. This time, you get more of a bluesy vibe than a grungy one. The pace is faster, catchier, something you can tap your foot to. When he sings, his voice is crisp and deep.

_”When you came in, the air went out_

_And every shadow filled up with doubt_

_I don’t know who you think you are_

_But before the night is through_

_I wanna do bad things with you…”_

The song picks up here, and G bobs his head along as he plays. 

_”...I’m the kind to sit up in his room_

_Heart-sick and eyes filled up with blue…"_

You can see him really get into it when he plays his guitar solo. He strums passionately, each transition from note to note seamless as his fingers deftly move. You’re totally awed by the skill with which he moves, and the diversity of his playing here when compared with the last song. You like to _watch_ him play. He’s so in his element, so relaxed, so confident… 

And if you’re being honest with yourself, _so_ hot. 

When his voice drops, and his guitar slows, you have to hold your breath again. He talks to you at a normal pace, strumming gently. You’re nearly right up against him on his bed. When and how did you get this close? G smiles at you, his legs grazing yours just enough to make some part of you ache. 

_”…When you came in, the air went out_

_And all those shadows there, they filled up with doubt…”_

He goes back to that faster, louder tune for the end of the song, giving his guitar all he’s got. His skeletal mouth widens in a cocky sort of grin as he gazes straight at you. There’s some look in his eyes you haven’t seen before, and you can’t place what it is, but you want to see it again, and again, and again. 

He sings to you like you’ve never heard before, voice smooth and smoky and so good you want to drink it up like wine.

_"…I don’t know what you’ve done to me_

_But I know this much is true_

_I wanna do bad things with you_

_I wanna do real bad things with you…”_

This time, instead of gently setting the guitar down, he merely puts it to the side, face-up on the bed, not once distancing himself or looking away from you. 

“What’d you think, kitten?” 

You can only smirk back at him. “Bad things, huh?”

“Mhm,” he dips his head, “you like that?” 

“A little too much, actually,” you reply. 

What’s gotten into you? You don’t even know where these words are coming from, but it feels right, like G’s music, like his body so close to yours. He doesn’t seem to have an issue with it; quite the opposite, actually. His fingers are grazing yours on his bed.

“ _Would_ you like that?” He asks. One of his sockets is arched. “With me?” 

Wait, is he asking you…

You like him, you aren’t going to deny that. He’s been nothing but alluring this whole time. You’re impressed by his humor, his talent, his charm, his style, his _everything_. And he certainly seems interested in _you_. 

You have feelings for a few of the others, too, by now, even if they’re little inklings of emotions. But G… 

“Yes,” you say, “Definitely with you.” 

He reaches out to caress your face with one hand, tracing your cheek and jawline with a finger. His bones feel slightly rough, but his touch is just so smooth. 

“If you like me. If you want to.” You lean into him with a wry grin, biting your lip a bit. 

That’s all it takes. With more intensity than he played his guitar, G pulls you forward and captures your mouth with his, cupping your face in both of his hands. 

His kiss is searing, swallowing your thoughts whole and leaving your mind with only his name in it. He kisses you deeply, like he’s drowning and you’re air. Though you know he doesn’t quite have lips, he feels so _normal_ , malleable against your own lips as you push against him. 

Your mouth tingles with magic at every touch. He feels so good. You can’t get enough of him. 

G wraps you in his arms and hoists you into his lap. You act in kind, straddling his hips and closing the gap between your mouths again before he can. The surprised moan he makes is worth it. He holds you against him with one strong arm around your waist and the other on the back of your neck, squeezing lightly. 

Kissing him harder, you delve your tongue into his mouth. His own tongue is slick, smooth, and surprisingly deft. Oh, he knows how to use it. He tastes of smoke and something floral. It’s a taste you can get used to. 

He kisses you again. And again. And again, not once loosening his grip on you or lessening his intensity. There are feverish kisses, fast and heated on your lips, your jaw, your neck. There are kisses so deep you feel as if you will never surface from them. There are so many you lose track of when they begin and end. 

G pulls at your lips, says your name in a hoarse whisper.

“_____. I want to take this slow, angel,” He murmurs. 

He’s gotten you in a compromising position, that’s for sure, with your limbs all but completely wrapped around his body. You could do this all night with him, kissing this skeleton until the sun goes down and rises again. 

“Hm?” You pull away and his sockets are practically radiating. His teeth are parted as he pants out slow, heavy breaths. You didn’t even know he needed to breathe, and yet here he is, face flushed the same color as his eyes. 

He sighs, “As much as I’d love everything at once, I know it’ll all be better if we savor it, and wait on things. Is that okay?” 

“Of course,” you tell him. “And in all honesty, I hadn’t planned on going to the _bone zone_ with you this soon.” 

“Oh, you were _planning_ on it?” He chuckles as you get off of his lap. 

“Shut up,” you say, shooting him a playful glare. “Like you weren’t planning on luring me in here with your talent, serenading me, and then seducing me.”

“Honestly, kitten, I didn’t even expect you to come in at all, but damn, if that didn’t just work out perfectly.” 

You’re laughing in his kitchen. He props himself up in the doorway to the bedroom, reaching and pulling you to him. Your hand is pulled up to his mouth for a chaste kiss.

“So, this begs the question,” you ask, “What are we? What’s… this now?” To punctuate your question you gesture between the two of you. 

“Ah-ah, we said we were taking this slow, didn’t we?” His tone is teasing, and when you pout up at him he only smiles. “Don’t worry, angel, I just don’t want to jump on putting a label on things before _we_ decide what _we_ want this to be. We’re… we’re _something_ , that’s for sure.” 

You nod at him, feeling better with his answer.

“Hell, _____, _you’re_ something,” G laughs.

“Oh, hush.”

“Make me,” he runs his tongue over his mouth. Oh, that tongue and the things it can do. The things you _want_ it to do. 

“I thought we were _waiting_ on that,” you counter teasingly. 

“Damn it, woman, you’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters under his breath, smirk still on his face.

“But G,” you say, “Think of how _good_ all those bad things are going to be when we get to them.” You stand on your tiptoes to give him a kiss on his chiseled cheekbone, and then turn with a smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to studying psychology. _Someone_ distracted me.” 

You return to your room, but not before that golden-eyed skeleton can pin you against his door and give you one last parting kiss. 


	16. Cake Pop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mentioned songs in this chapter are "Mansae" by SEVENTEEN and "Go go" by BTS.

  


“Okay, but how do they get all in sync like that?” You stare dumbfounded at the television. Today, Winnie’s hooked up her computer to the television with an HDMI cord, and is streaming one of her K-Pop videos. She ends up doing it most times you hang out, but you don’t mind. In fact, it’s interesting to watch, and the music is good, most of the time.

“Practice, so much practice,” Winnie replies. She’s sitting on Jade’s bed. “It takes most of them _hours_ to learn, but the better dancers pick it up quicker.” 

“Oh, that one’s cute,” you say, pointing to a specific boy on the screen. 

“Back off, that one’s mine. Don’t you have enough boys to worry about anyway?” She asks you, knowing smirk evident on her face. 

“Nooo,” you drone, “I don’t even-“

“Oh no? What about _G_?” 

You flush and look away. She’s been teasing you about what happened with G ever since you texted her yesterday. You can’t say that you’ve been able to stop thinking about him for too long, either. The kisses are burned into your brain along with the promise of being _something_.

“Mhmmm, see? And it seems like he’s not the only one who wants to take you to the _bone zone_.” 

You sigh, “I’m pretty sure the only other one is-“

“Red, of course, but he’s obvious about it. Just think: if two of them are clearly attracted to you, then what about the others? They probably are too.” 

“Oh, please.” You wrinkle your nose. “This isn’t some shitty fanfic, it’s real life. And it’s _impossible_ that all eleven of those skeletons are into me.” 

Winnie says, “_____, it’s been a week and a half, and at any given time, you have one of them breaking down your door.”

“That’s not-“ You begin to counter, but you’re cut off by a knock at the door. As you get up, you glare back at your friend. Your hand is on the door handle. “It’s not a skeleton. There’s no way.” 

“HI, _____! ARE YOU BUSY?”

You don’t need to look back to know that Winnie’s smirking. Trying to ignore the pointed I-told-you-so stare that she’s giving you, you smile down at Blueberry, who seems extra zealous today.

“Well, I’m hanging out with my friend Winnie right now…” you trail off as the tiny skeleton starts pouting. How can he even do that? His eyes seem to get even bigger while he looks up at you.

“BUT…” Oh no, the pout’s getting bigger. “BUT I WAS HOPING YOU WOULD WANT TO HANG OUT WITH _ME_!” Oh no, his voice is quavering.

You put a hand on his bony shoulder and start to say something, but Winnie beats you to the punch. She’s suddenly behind you, peering over your shoulder at Blue.

“Aww! You can always come in and hang out with the both of us!” 

“That’s okay?” You turn around to look at her. “I know we were looking at your stuff.”

“Oh my god, of course!” She’s cooing at the starry-eyed skeleton. “Look at how cute you are! And I can show you all my K-Pop!” 

“YOUR WHAT?” He asks as he’s led into the room. 

Poor, sweet, innocent little Blueberry. He has no idea what he’s getting into. 

You didn’t think it was possible for someone to learn so much about something in such a small time frame. Before the hour is over, he’s memorized every single member of the groups that Winnie’s shown him. You’re almost impressed with that, and you’re _definitely_ impressed by the speed with which he picks up the dances. 

Yes, the professionally-choreographed dances that sometimes take days for the professionals to learn. He knows several in the span of an hour, leaving both you and Winnie awed.

“How in the world did you pick all that up so fast?” Your friend asks him, unapologetically staring. The video you’re currently watching is one of the cuter ones. Blueberry has seen it about three times, and he’s already moving in sync with the idols on-screen.

Without missing a beat or a kick, he replies, “I DUNNO! I JUST LOVE TO DANCE, SO WHEN I WATCH THEM DANCING, I WANT TO JOIN IN, AND AFTER I WATCH THEM FOR A MINUTE, IT’S LIKE I JUST KNOW!”

You catch yourself smiling as he finishes his explanation without skipping a single move. Aw, that’s-

“Soooo cute!” Winnie exclaims, finishing your thoughts. “Oh my god, you’re _really_ good at it, and you’re just so adorable, and- and- and-!” She’s unable to even finish her own sentence. Her big brown eyes seem to sparkle while she watches the little skeleton flit this way and that.

For a moment, there’s a flush of cerulean along Blueberry’s face, and you feel a tiny twist in your stomach. 

“It looks like you’ve got this one down, Blue,” you chime in. “We can move to a different one if you want! Or we could watch a movie?”

Without hesitation he replies, “MORE OF THIS, PLEASE!”

Across the room, Winnie practically squeals. Your phone buzzes with a text a second later.

_Winnie: Blueberry is my skeleton bias_

You stifle a snort and look up at her. She’s put her phone down and given her attention to Blue again. Her buns flop a bit in their bands as she moves to lie on her stomach. She finds another song on her computer, pulling the video up for the three of you to see.

This one’s by a different group than the last one, but just as upbeat. And of course there’s dancing with this one too.

“THIS ONE LOOKS EASY!” Blue remarks, bouncing on his feet. Sure enough, it is easy for him. You could never do it, of course, and Winnie shows that she knows a few of the moves, but as it’s been with the other songs, you and her are both blown out of the water, comparatively. 

“You’re moving around a lot, Blueberry!” You comment, "Do you ever get tired?”

“NOT REALLY!” 

“I envy you,” you say with a laugh. Do any of the skeletons get tired? Do monsters? You know that they sleep, but is it actually necessary? You think about Stretch, and Sans, who seem perpetually tired. Blue might just be uber-hyper. 

Winnie stops humming along long enough to lean forward and pat Blue’s skull. “Aww, what a little ball of energy. So cute.” 

There’s that twisting feeling again, that slightly-nauseous churning of your stomach. You watch the little skeleton blush over Winnie’s affection and can’t help but squirm a little. Why does that make you so queasy? 

“You’re doing amazing!” you call, leaning off of the bed.

“I AM?” He asks, looking back. His body’s still moving while he’s turned away. Okay, _how_ is he doing that? He keeps surprising you. 

“Of course!” you affirm. 

“O-OH! THANK YOU, _____!” The way he stammers a bit is just. So. Adorable. He’s too precious. Now you’re blushing too. You can’t help it. 

You manage to reach out far enough to pet his skull, and he _squeaks_. Shit.

“Did you just make that noise?” Winnie asks. 

Before he can even respond, she’s lunging off of the bed and grabbing hold of him. The skeleton’s stopped dancing now that he’s being touched. The song plays quietly in the background, the video carrying on.

All Blue can do is nod. She’s squeezing his cheekbones, and gazing down at him. 

You feel that sickness bubbling up through your body again, that bitter taste on your tongue. It’s jealousy, you know it now, because what else could it be? Winnie is getting touchy with Blue and she’s close, (too close, something bitter in your head complains). Why are you so possessive? It’s not like he’s _your_ cute little skeleton or anything (do you want him to be?)

Winnie’s beaming. “You’re. So-“

She’s cut off by loud, frantic knocking at your door, and in that moment you’re grateful for whichever skeleton is there now. Blue detaches himself from Winnie’s hold, curiously glancing over. You jump from the bed, heading to open the door. 

It’s Stretch, and he definitely looks worse for wear. As soon as you open the door, he starts talking. “_____, so I know this is sudden, and it’s gonna sound weird, but I _need_ to know if you’ve seen-“

“STRETCH!” Blueberry cuts his brother off by poking his head into the doorway. 

“Where’ve you been?!” The taller skeleton demands, pushing his way into your room.

“Hey!” You exclaim as you’re elbowed aside. 

“I TOLD YOU THAT I WANTED TO GO SEE _____!” Blue huffs, crossing his arms. “YOU LEFT FOR ERRANDS AND I WAS BORED AND SHE WAS HERE!” 

“Dude, you didn’t even _tell_ me you were leaving.”

“DO I HAVE TO DO THAT NOW? I NEVER DID BEFORE WE WERE-“

“Well- I mean- I guess-“ After several tries, Stretch only sighs, “Shit, I guess not. You _are_ an adult.” 

Winnie, from the other room, glances at the little skeleton. You’re sure she’s surprised that he’s not a child. You think back to the conversation you had last week on the roof, about how concerned Stretch really is for Blue. 

“But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if you _did_ tell him, Blue,” you chime in. “Just a little text, maybe, to keep him from getting worried?”

Blue’s silent for a moment, staring at the ground, and you wonder what it’s like to be in his position, to have an overprotective sibling that cares for you so much. Does he ever get sick of being watched over?

Finally, though, he looks up. “I SUPPOSE SO! IF IT KEEPS YOU FROM WORRYING AND GETTING UPSET!”

From the corner of the kitchen Winnie utters a soft, “Awwww.” 

The taller skeleton relaxes back to his normal slouch-and-smile. “I’m glad you’re somewhere safe, though.”

You’re safe? Stretch considers you… safe? The thought makes your face get warm.

He starts to open the door, but you hear Winnie’s voice from behind you.

“Wait! Did _____ tell you about the party?” 

Shit. You forgot about that. You _really_ don’t want to go to that. Really really. 

“Party?” Stretch turns around. 

“THERE’S A PARTY?” Blueberry asks.

“Oh, she didn’t tell you?” Winnie asks, a slick smile on her face. Oh no. 

The taller skeleton’s smile is just as wicked. “No, she didn’t, as a matter of fact.” _Oh no_.

“Well, isn’t that just strange? I asked her to invite you, and she _said_ she’d do it. It’s tomorrow night, though, over at the Theta Chi house down the road. And I really, _really_ want you and the other skeletons to come with! It’ll be so fun!” 

And you really, really want to throw up right now. Ugh. Parties. 

“Hm, isn’t that interesting? I’ll tell the others about it, since _____ didn’t want to.” Oh, he’s enjoying this. Fucking shit, Stretch. 

“I look forward to seeing you all there,” Winnie replies as the two skeletons pivot around to leave. 

Fucking shit. Now you have to go to this stupid party. Fuck. 

"By the way, uh, _____,” Stretch turns his attention to you, door half-open, “There was something out by your door. It was there when I walked up. Didn’t wanna knock it over, but a minute ago I had more important stuff to worry about than bringing it in for you. So uh, here.” 

Closed in his skeletal hand is a crystal vase of crimson roses.

  



	17. Don't Frat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs in this chapter are "No Tears Left to Cry" by Ariana Grande and "I Like It" by Cardi B (my opinion of this song has since changed after writing this, I may come back and edit it later lmao)

  


“How’s this look?”

You step out into the middle of the room, twisting and turning just enough to show off your outfit.

From her bed, Jade shrugs. “I liked the last one better, honestly.” She’s chewing gum and doing something on her computer. 

You pout. “But that one isn’t even a party outfit! It’s got more of a stay-at-home-eating-chips vibe to it.” 

“Yes. Exactly. Fuck the stupid party. Stay home.”

“Jaaaaaade,” you drawl as you adjust the neckline of your top. How much cleavage is too much cleavage? “I promised Winnie I’d go. Hiram’s gonna be there, so it won’t be all bad. And then I told you she got the skeletons in on it, too.”

“So you feel responsible for them?” She guesses. Your roommate blows a pale pink bubble that only grows a little before popping and coating her lips.

“Maybe? I don’t know if it’s quite that, I just... don’t want anything bad to happen to them.” 

“Or do you just not want them having fun without you?” She’s got most of the gum off her mouth now, enough for her thin lips to twist into a smirk. “Possessive much?” 

“Shush,” you chastise. “I’m not possessive. They’re not mine.” You’ve yet to tell Jade about your _thing_ with G. You doubt she’d have anything good to say about _that_. It’s only been two days, anyhow. Nevertheless, it’s hard to hold back from blushing when he texts you, though. 

“Mhm, sure.” 

Brushing Jade’s condescension off, you turn back to her. “I’m serious, though, does this look okay?” You really hope this outfit works. You need to be leaving for the Theta Chi house in a few minute and don’t have time to stress over finding a new shirt. 

“It’s cute, but missing something.” 

“What?”

Your roommate gets up and, much to your surprise, walks over to the crystal vase of roses on your desk. 

“You still don’t know who gave you these?”

“Not a clue,” you reply. “The tag only had my name on it, there wasn’t a card or anything, and they didn’t even knock to give them to me in-person.”

“That’s fucking weird.” Jade says. “They’re really pretty, though. Look fresh-picked, too.”

You made the observation yesterday when you got them. Though the flowers themselves look perfect, their stems are wild, twisted and thorn-riddled. That doesn’t make them any less beautiful, or you any less grateful to whoever sent them.

“Here.” Jade picks one of the less-thorny ones out of the crystal vase and takes a pair of scissors to it. She cuts most of the barbs off, and trims the stem several inches. You hold still as she places it in your hair, tucking it so that the green stem is concealed in your hair. “The smaller thorns should help hold it in without scratching you.” 

“Oh shit, that _does_ look pretty,” you say as you regard yourself in the mirror. “Thanks!”

“Just don’t get trashed and do something stupid tonight.” 

“That’s Winnie’s job, not mine,” you reply, and she lets out a bark of dry laughter. 

Without further ado, you bid your roommate goodbye, and head down the hall. You prop yourself against the wall across from the elevators, where you and your friends said you would meet. It would make sense to walk together, especially given that none of the skeletons know where the frat house is. It only takes a moment of waiting before one shows up.

“Hey,” G says as he rounds the corner. Once closer, he greets you with a kiss on the cheek. His mouth tingles against your skin. Okay, you really like this _thing_. “You ready?”

“Mhm.” When you notice he’s alone, you ask, “Is Green not coming?” 

“Nah. He’s not into big parties. I think he and Dings were gonna hole up and watch movies instead.” 

That makes sense. Of course, Green never seemed like the partier, and you weren’t ever sure about Dings. 

“I’m glad they don’t have to be alone, though,” You say. You’re contemplating going in for another kiss when you hear voices down the hall.

“ARE YOU SURE I CAN’T GO?” There’s Blueberry’s voice, reduced to a loud whine, followed by Stretch’s drawl.

“I’m sure. I just want to see what it’s like. From what I read online, some of these parties aren’t safe. If this one’s good, then you can go to the next one. Tonight, though, Green and Dings have movies on, and they’re gonna bake cookies so you don’t have to just sit in the room alone.” 

“OH. OKAY!” Of course, that cheers him up. “CAN I GO NOW?”

“Sure, bro. Just have fun and text me if you need anything.” 

You can hear frantic footsteps running in the other direction, and in a matter of moments, Stretch has joined you at the elevator bank. 

“Hey there, Mama Hen,” G snickers. 

“Shut up. Like you wouldn’t do the same for _your_ brother,” Stretch replies, hitting the taller skeleton playfully in the shoulder. “Are we ready? Or are we seriously gonna wait on-“

“THERE YOU THREE ARE! ABOUT TO LEAVE US, MOST LIKELY!” Edge has now rounded the corner, with Red in tow. “FUCKING DISGRACEFUL.”

“We weren’t gonna leave, guys,” you reply, sighing. 

“Wish we would’ve,” G mutters from behind you.

Red, moving from behind his brother, throws an arm around you. “hey, dolly, ready to get fuckin’ tanked?”

“Maybe not _that_ drunk, but sure.” Since last week, you’d definitely say that you’re more comfortable with him. Definitely not as comfortable as you are with G, though. Speaking of G, he doesn’t seem too happy with Red’s arm around you. After a moment, you squeeze the crimson-clad skeleton and slip out of his grasp.

You shoot Winnie a text to say that you’re on the way with four skeletons, and she replies to say that she’s already at the frat house.

On your way there, you say, “Y’know, I think Sans and Papyrus would’ve really loved to come to this. Kinda wish they were back.” 

Red snorts. “if they were back, then so’d be gaster, and he wouldn’t‘ve let us go to this. so yeah, i’ll pass on wishin’ for them to be back.”

“Is Gaster in charge of you all?” 

Stretch chimes in, “No, but he seems to think he is.”

That makes all four of the skeletons laugh, with Edge’s being a loud guffaw that overpowers the rest of the group’s. 

In all honesty, you miss Gaster. Despite nearly seeing him stark-naked a few days ago, you’re eager to see him again. It’s… endearing, almost, to talk to and be around him. Of course, you can’t forget that embrace he had you in before he left. He wouldn’t approve of a party, no, but perhaps he’d enjoy something quieter to do once he gets back. Tomorrow, you remind yourself. They come back tomorrow. Wow, this week has dragged on for what feels like months.

When you reach the frat house, the boys gasp. The Theta Chi house is one of the biggest on fraternity row, complete with two massive stories and enormous Greek columns flanking the porch.

“It actually looks like that,” Stretch murmurs. 

“HOW MAJESTIC!” Edge exclaims, eyeing the porch.

“I almost don’t want to party in it,” G whispers, bony hand grazing yours. “What if I wreck it?"

“i can’t wait to party in it,” Red says, “just might wreck it."

“Well,” you say, “here goes nothing.” 

Here it goes, indeed.

The house is bustling with the party already underway. Your first order of business is to find Winnie and Hiram. They’re probably together, most likely, and it shouldn’t be hard to find Winnie’s boyfriend. He’s quite possibly one of the tallest humans you’ve ever seen, rivaling Green and G with his lanky figure. You look for his black hair poking up amongst the crowd, trying to elbow your way through. 

Top chart hits blare through the numerous speakers set up through the house. This song is a fairly new one, with a snappy beat and candy-sweet vocals.

_”...I’m picking it up, picking it up_

_Loving, I’m living, so we turning up_

_Yeah, we turning it up_

_Ain’t got no tears in my body_

_I ran out, but, boy_

_I like it, I like it, I like it…”_

“You know you can just text your friend, right?” G says, and he has to speak straight into your ear for you to hear his wispy voice. 

He’s got a loose grip on your hand, while the rest of the skeletons have seemingly vanished in the house. Red certainly lost himself in the throng, with Edge announcing his presence to the entire house. Stretch… you don’t really know what happened to him. You’ll find him again eventually. 

“Smart. This is why I need you,” you reply as you take out your phone.

“Oh, you need me, angel?” He teases, golden eyes glinting in the light of an expensive chandelier.

When you start to stammer, he only chuckles and presses a gentle kiss to your temple. You’re blushing so hard you can barely concentrate on texting Winnie. Maybe she’ll answer, maybe she won’t. Hopefully she isn’t already plastered.

_”...Shut your mouth_

_And if you don’t know_

_Then now you know it, babe…"_

While you’re waiting on a reply, you make your way to the kitchen. The one redeeming quality of huge, ridiculous parties like this one is food. Of course, there’s the extravagant dining room to get past, and it’s being used for anything but dining. There are a few stragglers and tiny circles seated on the skirts of the tables, but the focal point is the game of beer-pong already underway. 

You catch G staring and say, “You know, you don’t have to stick by me the whole time. It’s your first huge party on the surface. If you want to go do other things, you can. Even if we’re…” As you trail off, you hold up your joined hands to drive the point. 

“I know. I might go off in a bit, but right now I’m enjoying _this_.” He squeezes your hand for his own emphasis, and you’re satisfied with his response.

Of course, the bar is stocked, and everyone’s helping themselves. You find a fruity type of wine cooler for yourself, and turn to G.

“Nah, I’ll pass,” he says. “Human alcohol hits us harder than Monster alcohol does, as you’ve already seen. If you can find some of that, I’ll go for it, but right now I’m good, kitten.” 

You stay like that for a while, propped against the door and talking while you let G take in the sight of the party. It’s going to be one of the longer ones, you can tell. There’s so many people here, and something in you knows that half the people aren’t even here yet.

You’re opening your second bottle when your phone buzzes. 

_Winnie: Over in the game room bb! I already see one skeleboy in action._

_Winnie: Attached: 1 image_

“Oh my god, G, look at this,” you say, passing him your phone. A smile spreads across his face when he regards the photo. In the picture, Edge is leaning over the pool table, deep into a game with a few of the frat brothers. Cups and bottles litter the table edges, but he’s managing to aim his shot with ease.

“Didn’t peg Edgelord as the social type, but hell, way to go,” he remarks. 

“You wanna come see? I’m going to meet up with Winnie and Hiram, anyway.” Ready to go, you grab ahold of your new bottle and take a swig. The pink label says tropical punch, but the drink tastes more like candy. It’s sweeter than the daiquiri-flavored one you just finished. It’s always been easier (and tastier) for you to down these sorts of drinks instead of beer. 

“Actually, I think I’ll watch this shitshow,” he remarks, nodding back to the game of beer pong. “I’ll catch up with you later, alright?” 

“Okay!” You debate over kissing him, but decide you don’t want to be too much. Besides, you have friends waiting on you in the game room. So with a drink in one hand and your phone in your pocket, you head off.

You hear Edge before you see him.

“BEHOLD, MY SKILLS AT BILLIARDS ARE _FAR_ SUPERIOR TO YOURS!” 

When you walk into the game room, there he is, just like he was in the picture. He has a look of utter concentration on his skull, regarding the cue ball with fiery intensity. 

Across the room, Winnie waves you over. Hiram’s standing next to her, all six feet and five inches of him. Yeah, he’s _that_ tall. He’s got an arm over his girlfriend’s shoulders, holding her as she bops and sways to the music. They’re too cute together. 

“Hey, _____, we found you!” Winnie shouts, even if the music isn’t that loud in here. She’s… yeah, she’s definitely had a bit to drink.

“I think she found us,” Hiram remarks. 

“Sorry if he’s disturbing the peace,” you say, nodding back to Edge. 

“Oh, hell no!” Winnie exclaims, “Honestly, he’s great! The brothers love him so far. Who else came?”

“So there’s Edgelord over there, and his brother Red is in here somewhere, and Stretch kinda vanished as soon as we got here, and-“

“Where’s your _bone-friend_?” She interrupts. 

“Wait, you’re dating one of them? Already?” Hiram cocks his head to the side. You know him well enough to realize he isn’t being racist, he’s just curious. 

“Not exactly,” you answer, then nod. “Yeah, G’s here. Last I checked he was observing the spectacle of beer pong going on across the house.”

“And then another one sent her a dick pic, and then another sent her flowers yesterday,” Winnie stage-whispers to Hiram, or at least she tries to, but she’s a bit louder than she thinks she is.

“Wait, so one’s sent you flowers, and another’s sent you his _dick_ , and then you have a-“

“A thing,” you interrupt.

“-a thing with another…” His deep brown eyes widen and he gasps, “Holy fuck, it’s like that one anime that everybody watched in middle school. The one about that club- Wait, hold on, they have _dicks_?!”

You and Winnie exchange laughs as he looks on, bewildered. 

“ALAS, I HAVE BESTED YOU!” Edge yells, and when you look over you see that he’s won the game. 

“That was, like, super fucking quick,” one of the Theta Chi brothers says. “I’m going to get another beer, but when I get back, do you wanna do teams? You and me against Tyler and Rob?” He gestures to two of the other boys that have been watching. 

One of them groans, “Why do _you_ get to be with the skeleton? Tyler sucks at pool.”

Edge is... being invited to do something? With actual people that actually seem to like him? You find yourself smiling at this, watching the playful banter. 

However, you’re not expecting to catch the tall skeleton’s attention. Sure enough, though, he looks up and yells upon noticing you.

“_____! SURELY YOU’VE JUST WITNESSED MY FLAWLESS VICTORY!” 

“That I did, Edge, that I did.” You walk up to the billiards table so he can hear you better, considering all the people and noise in the room. Your drink is halfway gone.

“AND SURELY, YOU’RE AWED BY THE RAW, UNABASHED TALENT THAT YOU’VE SEEN ME POSSESS!”

“Definitely,” you say with a smile. He may still be arrogant as ever, but you have to admit, he’s a lot less of an asshole when he’s having a good time. It’s almost cute, if not completely hilarious.

“THEN I DEMAND THAT YOU SPREAD WORD OF MY HARROWING TRIUMPH! LET EVERYONE KNOW OF MY MALEVOLENT POWER AND NATURAL SKILL! MAKE SURE MY GOOD-FOR-NOTHING BROTHER HEARS OF IT AS WELL!”

“Sure, dude,” you reply. 

A moment of silence passes and he only stares at you.

“WELL?”

“Oh, okay, yeah, I’m on it.” Oh, he’s serious. He wants you to do it _now_. You turn to give Winnie and Hiram a parting glance-and-nod. Looks like you’re going to find Red.

It takes you quite a while to actually locate the skeleton. First, you check the dining room, with its crowded population and numerous coolers strewn about. He isn’t there, though you _do_ catch G’s eye. He gives you a wink, and you move on after smiling at him. Next you venture into the serving area, with the buffet and the bar. It’s a smaller room between the kitchen and dining room, but it’s still just as crowded. Beat-driven music blasts from a speaker nearby.

_”...I like those Balenciagas,_

_The ones that look like socks_

_I like going to the jeweler,_

_I put rocks all in my watch_

_I like texts from my exes_

_When they want a second chance…”_

You look around the bar, where he’s surprisingly not. With all his talk about “getting fuckin’ tanked,” you’re surprised. There’s bottles upon bottles of liquor on the counter, along with a falling stack of plastic cups. They’re almost to the ceiling, and the way they’re leaning is a bit alarming. Nevertheless, you elbow your way through a wooden archway and into the kitchen.

You’re beginning to realize that there isn’t a single room in this house that isn’t crowded. The kitchen is extensive (obviously, since it’s supposed to serve an entire frat) and due to the cooking and the mass of bodies, it’s _hot_. You grab a pizza roll from a still-hot pan and weave your way to the counter island. 

_”…Diamond district in the Jag_

_Certified, you know I’m gang, gang, gang, gang_

_Drop the top and blow the brains_

_Oh, he’s so handsome, what’s his name?”_

And oh, there he is, doing a keg-stand on the stainless counter. Just the monster you were looking for. Unlike how most keg-stands are done, Red’s managing to hold himself over the keg. A faint crimson glow emits from his body, causing him to have some awed onlookers. His red shirt rides down his body, exposing his spinal cord and a bit of ribcage.

“Red!” You yell, trying to override the crowd.

You see his eyes flicker open, land on you, and flare up in color. His bony hands shake a bit against the keg, but then he stiffens his grip and keeps chugging. How long has he been going? How much beer is left in the keg? How fucking drunk is he? You’ve maybe been here an hour.

Soon enough, he pushes himself upright, fixing his spectators with a toothy smirk. 

“all gone. you can check if ya want.”

A guy wearing a shirt for another frat hits the side of the keg. The chatter quiets just enough so that everyone can hear the hollow _bonk_ noise emitting from the container. 

“Damn,” One girl watching remarks. You’ve had a class or two with her before, you think her name’s Bianca? “That was _wild_.” Her eyeliner’s always perfect.

Red nods to her. “thanks. now, if you’ll excuse me.” 

The crowd parts just enough for him to make his way towards you, eyes still bright as wildfire. 

_”...Oh, I need the dollars_

_Beat it up like piñatas_

_Tell the driver to close the curtains_

_Bad bitch make him nervous…”_

“well, hey there, baby girl. thought you were gonna be off gallivantin' with fuckin' kurt cobain all night.”

It takes you a second to realize he’s talking about G, but you still manage a giggle. 

“Okay, but that was really impressive. How long were you up there?” 

Red gives a dry laugh, stumbling a bit. “not long enough,” he says, and you both laugh. He’s definitely wobbling, but he’s got an arm around you anyway, so it’s easy to support him. 

After a moment of silence (relatively, considering the background noise), you say, “Edge wanted me to find you and tell you that he won at pool against some of the brothers.” 

“really?” He asks, and you show him the photo Winnie sent you earlier. “wow. ain’t he a fuckin’ badass?”

“Right? He seemed like he was really having a good time. He didn’t even call me a cunt or a worthless human or anything.” 

Red snorts, but you catch that swell of pride in his smile. You know he’s proud of his brother, no matter how he acts. Personally, you didn’t expect Edge to be as popular at the party as he actually is, but if the Theta Chi brothers are being genuine, then you’ll take it.

“what about you, babe? you havin’ fun?”

“I guess,” you say, “I’m honestly not much of a party person, but I wanted to go with you guys. I’m on my second drink, though.” When you finish, you hold up your bottle, which is just about empty. Amidst the masses of people, you manage a smile.

“now that shit just won’t do,” the skeleton tells you, and before you know it, he’s taking your empty bottle and chucking it into an already-full trash can. “c’mon, let’s hit the heavy shit.” Grabbing your hand, he starts to make his way over to the bar area.

“Whoa now,” you ease, slowing until he turns back to face you. “What about pacing ourselves?”

He laughs at you. He fucking howls with laughter, hollering until he nearly falls over with the heaving of his chest. You’re left grimacing at him until he stops to catch his breath.

“well, a’ight then, doll. i’ll go get the hard shit for me, and you can come back on in here when you wanna enjoy yourself a lil. that sound good, sweetheart?”

“Be careful, Red,” you say before walking off in search of someone else.

You want to see G, but he’s not in the dining room anymore. Wherever he is, you hope he’s having fun.

The time it took to locate Red pales in comparison to how long it takes you to find Stretch. He’s leaning against the wall in one of the living rooms, barely noticeable amidst the action. The couches and tables in here have been pushed to the side to improvise a dance floor.

“Are you a wallflower now?” You ask him.

“Yeah. Heard there were perks to it,” The lean skeleton replies, the hint of a lazy smile on his skull.

You chuckle and take the spot on the wall next to him. Even with his slouch, you have to look up to talk to him. 

“So, no offense, but if you’re not drinking, and you’re not playing games or socializing, and you’re not dancing, then what are you doing here?” You ask. 

“Eating,” He says, and pulls a homemade cookie from his hoodie pocket. You’d seen a tray of them in the serving area, but didn’t grab one. Stretch adds on, “But people-watching, mostly.” His orange-tinted eyes scan the crowd of dancers. It’s a twenty-person grind session, with each individual switching from partner to partner about the parquet. It’s… not a pretty sight, to be honest. Half the people are visibly drunk. 

“And what observations have you made from this dry-hump orgy?” You ask, smirking. 

“More than you’d think.” He says, and then discreetly points to a guy on the outskirts of the mass. “For instance, nobody likes him. Every time he tries to get in the group, whatever girl he tries to grind with moves away. I’d say he’s a creep, but I like to get more information before making assumptions.” 

Sure enough, after a minute of watching the boy, you realize Stretch is right. He never makes it far past the edge of the dancers, and he never actually gets a dance in. This _is_ kind of interesting to look at.

“What else?” You ask.

“Okay, okay, so, do you see that girl over there? The one with the red hair?” 

Sure enough, you notice her. Her hair’s curled intricately, and she’s wearing a lacy cocktail dress and black heels. She flits excitedly about the throng, beaming all the while. Her effort and enthusiasm are overwhelming.

“Yeah, what about her?” 

“She’s a freshman,” Stretch deadpans, and you actually laugh out loud at that.

“What’s so funny?” A voice behind you slurs, and you nearly jump. It’s Winnie, and she’s come from seemingly nowhere. She props a hand against the wall to steady herself. You don’t know where Hiram is; he normally has a hold on her when she’s this drunk.

“Stretch’s intense research,” you reply. 

The skeleton in question takes another cookie from his pocket and eats it. 

Then Winnie gasps, “Oh my god, I made those cookies! Like, I made them all myself! How do you like them?” 

Stretch grins at her. “They’re great. Baking at its finest.” 

She giggles uncontrollably, like they’ve shared a joke you don’t get. You chalk it up to her intoxication and mentally move on.

“I’m going to the… the bar, yeah, that’s the thing I’m going to. Do either of you want anything?” She asks. Before you can even answer she exclaims, “Shots! We need shots, like, all of us, we all need shots!”

“I’ll take a shot,” Stretch nods. 

Your friend then yells, “Wait! Wait, wait, wait, holy shit.” She can barely contain her giggles. “What about body-shots?”

“Oh no,” you mutter. You know where this is going and you’re not sure about it.

“Shhhhhh! Shhhhhh, _____, Stretch, shhhhh, it’ll be fun!” She’s stumbling as she bounces. She’s too insistent. There’s no stopping Winnie when she’s drunk. Only her boyfriend can do that, and you have no fucking clue where he is. 

Your only choice is to follow her to the bar, Stretch in tow. Winnie weaves through the crowds like a dizzy ballerina, spinning and turning in an almost spectacular fashion. As you pass through the foyer, you finally catch sight of G, whom you haven’t seen in almost an hour. He’s sitting on a faded couch against the wall, talking with a girl. Her hair’s long and black, and you think you’ve seen her somewhere before.

Winnie sees her too. “Ooh, G’s talking with Lana?” 

“Yeah, so?” You ask. 

She leans towards you and Stretch and speaks in what she probably thinks is a discreet whisper. Instead, it only comes out as a slurred murmur. “I mean, it’s not like she seduces _every_ guy within a ten foot radius of her, but…” she cuts herself off with a nervous giggle. 

Stretch looks over at you, probably trying to scrutinize your reaction. You try to keep a neutral face. _Trust G,_ you tell yourself, _if you’re a thing and he likes you then he won’t do anything to hurt you._ You look over at the pair again, trying to reassure yourself. 

He’s got his arm slung over the back of the couch now, over her. She’s laughing a lot, too much. 

Your stomach twists. 

Winnie laughs again, “I mean, it’s never what it looks like, right?"

  



	18. Shot After Shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs in this chapter are "Rockstar" by Post Malone and "Here" by Alessia Cara.  
> TW for vomit, just in case.

  


Winnie stumbles into the bar with you and Stretch in tow.

“Where’s the tequila?!” 

A few people scramble to find the bottle of Patrón you saw around here earlier. You exchange a glance with Stretch, who only shrugs. For someone who’s about to have his first body-shot, he seems surprisingly laid-back. On your way into the room he told you that he’s “just going with it.” You wish you could be that relaxed, especially with Winnie’s scheming. She may be drunk, but it’s obvious she’s perfectly aware of what she’s setting up.

When you look at her again, she has the bottle in her hands. On the bar next to her is a Tupperware bowl full of lime slices, and a shaker of salt. Oh boy.

“_____,” she whines, elongating your name, “don’t be nervous!” 

Is it that obvious? You can’t even remember the last time you did this. Have you even done this before? You’re honestly not sure. Parties all blur together. In fact, this party is only iconic in the fact that it has monsters at it now.

“So, uh,” Stretch asks, “how do you do this?” He stares blankly at the bottle, eyes on the tequila but brain obviously somewhere else. Space, maybe?

“Oh god,” you murmur. You’re even dreading the _explanation_ of a body-shot. Part of you doesn’t even want to look at Stretch when he learns, but you force yourself to. After all, you’re going to be the one he’s taking the shot off of.

“Okay, okay,” Winnie says, slurring her way through the explanation, “so _____’s gonna lay down on the table. And I’m pouring salt on her, and then setting a lime in her mouth. And then, Stretch, my dude, you’re gonna lick the salt off of her, take the shot, and then get the lime out of her mouth, y’know, like, with your own?” That’s all she can get out before bursting into a fit of giggles, her dark cheeks reddening. 

“Oh, cool,” Stretch replies after she’s done. 

Oh, cool? That’s all he’s saying? _Oh-fucking-cool?_

The fact that he’s so relaxed just makes your anxiety worse. Why isn’t he panicking like you are? He’s going to _lick_ you. He’s going to put his mouth to yours. He’s... staring out into space again. Is he okay?

Before you can ask, though, you’re being nudged towards a table. 

Winnie yells, “_____, _____, _____, time to shoot the shot! Now take off your shirt!” 

Sitting on the table, you speak slowly. “Can’t I just… pull it up?” 

It’s not that you have a problem with Stretch, per se, or even the shot in general. You’d just rather not strip in front of strangers. Even if you’re somewhat down for a body-shot, you’re still insecure.

“Booooooo,” your friend jeers. She grabs the hem of your shirt, tugging at it with a little too much force. Sure enough, your shirt comes up, and Winnie’s other hand helps to pull it over your head. You’re sitting exposed in the bar-room, arms around yourself as you sit on the table.

When you look at Stretch he hasn’t even shown a reaction to your nearly-bare torso. He holds a shot of tequila in his bony hands. You’re about to lay back in preparation when he hands you the fragile glass. 

“Y’know,” he shrugs, “for your nerves.” 

Oh, it’s for you. You nod in thanks, and down the shot like it doesn’t faze you. The tequila slips down your throat with a light, tangy sting. Almost instantly, warmth rushes through your chest and into your stomach like a wave of comfort. Your body relaxes, with your arms uncrossing and your legs stilling their bounce. It’s easier now for you to lay on the table. The cold wood of the tabletop is comforting amidst the body heat of the party.

Winnie gets the salt. Her thick eyebrows scrunch in frustration as she fumbles to unscrew the lid from the shaker. With narrowed, concentrated eyes, she leans over you, pouring across your waistline. She uses her fingers to adjust the bit of salt into a tiny line across your skin.

“Ha,” she giggles, “it looks like coke!” 

Stretch arches a socket. “Do you do coke?”

She lightly hits him in the shoulder, face emanating light as she laughs loudly. “Noooo, silly! Drugs are bad!” 

You’re handed a lime wedge next. They’re always so sour. Stretch better get it quick. It’s inches from being in your mouth when Winnie gasps.

“Wait! Wait, wait, oh my god. Stretch. Stretch, I just remembered. You can do body-shots two ways.”

“I’m listening,” he says, staring off elsewhere.

“So the first way, it’s just out of the shot glass. You just do the salt and then take the shot from the glass and then the lime. But the second way, that’s the way I forgot! Instead of using the glass, you just drink the tequila off their body!”

“Mhm,” the skeleton nods. “Sounds good.” 

Was he even actually listening to the explanation? You look up at him, and he registers your gaze, meeting your eyes with that typical lazy smile.

Huh. Maybe he _does_ know what he’s doing. Is he really comfortable with licking tequila off of your stomach? 

Are _you_ comfortable with that? 

What would G think about it? You’re wondering that, but the instant you think of him, you think of how you last saw him, arm draped over that Lana girl. 

“Sounds good to me, too,” you say, perhaps a little too quickly. “Let’s do this.” 

With a confident wiggle of your body on the table, you pop the lime into your mouth, holding it there with your teeth. Its tart taste catches on your tongue. As you stare up at the light, your ears pick up the sounds of the house around you, the music playing from the next room.

_”I’ve been fuckin’ hoes and popping’ pillies_

_Man, I feel just like a rockstar_

_All my brothers got that gas_

_And they always be smokin’ like a Rasta…”_

Your eyes meet Stretch’s, burning low and hazed with orange. His look lingers on the salt lining your stomach and the lime poking out of your lips.

“Ready,” you say to Winnie through your teeth, giving a thumbs-up from the table. 

She glances to the skeleton. “Okay, so you lick the salt off, and then I’ll pour, alright?” 

He nods. You suck in a breath, you chest rising and your ribs showing. Well, here goes nothing. 

The first thing you feel is Stretch’s hand on your hip. Leaning over you, he braces himself against your body, probably so he won’t fall on you. His touch is firm, but not quite rough. It’s… nice? You watch his mouth move closer to your bare skin, hovering, hesitant.

His amber-toned tongue grazes your skin suddenly and you gasp. _It’s so wet._ He holds onto your body tighter, phalanges almost digging into the sides of your jeans.

_…"Cocaine on the table, liquor pourin’_

_Don’t give a damn_

_Dude, your girlfriend is a groupie_

_She just tryna get in_

_Sayin' ‘I’m with the band’..”_

Stretch licks up your waist, tongue snaking over the salt quickly. As he does, golden tequila splashes onto your stomach, cold and pooling at your belly button. His skull moves up your body to get at the puddle of alcohol, and you shiver at his touch. He licks the tequila up from your body, all of it. There wasn’t very much of it, though...

You’re about to comment about the size of the shot when you hear a giggle. Immediately after, the other half of the shot splashes above your bra, right between your breasts. 

You and Stretch only make eye contact for a split second before he surges forward, gripping your waist now as his tongue laves over your cleavage. You can’t help but shudder when he licks you like that, fully and with reckless abandon. He drinks every drop from your body and even goes so far as to suck it off your skin. 

Then his skull is closer, right at your face, and he leans close to bite at the lime between your teeth. You close your eyes when he gets close enough, feeling his teeth graze against yours. You... think he’s smiling? Why would he be smiling during this? He bites the slice hard, making the fruit squirt. 

When at last he pulls away, the sour juice lingers in your mouth and down your throat.

Stretch leans against the table, eyes on Winnie. “How was that?” 

She only giggles, and even that turns into full-blown laughter when she catches your expression. When you manage to sit up, you notice that several people have their eyes on you and their phone cameras aimed in your direction.

Your mouth tingles with magic.

_”…I’ve been in the Hills fuckin’ superstars_

_Feelin’ like a pop star…”_

He didn’t kiss you, but maybe that would’ve been better. 

“I’m all over Snapchat now, aren’t I?” You ask Winnie, back in the game room now. Since your tequila escapade with Stretch a while ago, you’ve received several comments about your “inter-species body-shot” from complete strangers. If that doesn’t sound like the title of a bad porno, you don’t know what does. 

“Just a little bit,” she replies, staggering. “It’s no big deal though!"

Your phone buzzes immediately after, almost as if she’s summoned it.

_Jade: Spending the night with the band tonight, btw. Also, uh, skeleton body-shots??_

Jade isn’t even _on_ social media. How in the world did _she_ hear about it? You’re never hearing the end of this. It’s not like you’re even going to stop thinking about it anytime soon, though.

When you look up from your phone, though, you see a familiar face. Hiram’s got his arm draped around Winnie, who hasn’t been able to walk on her own for the past thirty minutes. Needless to say, after your body-shot, she took several normal shots on her own.

“Babe, you’re clocked the fuck out,” he says to his girlfriend. “I think it’s time to head out.”

“Noooooo,” Her eyes flutter. Yeah, no, she’s out of it. There will be no more shots tonight, at least none for her. 

“Am I glad to see you,” you remark. “She’s been fucking wild.” 

“I figured that shot was her idea.” Aw, fuck, he knows, too? “Hoodie Skeleton looks chill, though. He should hang with us sometime. Whenever, y’know, Winnie’s not three sheets to the wind.” 

“Deal.” You tell him. You’re about tell Winnie goodbye, but you notice that she’s nearly asleep against Hiram’s chest. 

You’ll text her in the morning. For now, you need to pee and she needs to get home safe. Oh, what you’d give for a boyfriend like Hiram. 

The bathroom is crowded when you walk in. On the first floor, there are actual stalls, considering that the house is for numerous amounts of people. It’s almost like a public bathroom, with its gender seclusion and space. You think it’s handy; otherwise, you’d be waiting for ages. Now it’s only a matter of time before someone comes out of a stall.

You busy yourself at a mirror between two other girls, fixing the flower in your hair. One of them is retying her bun, while the other finishes washing her hands and takes a stick of deodorant out of her tiny blue clutch. You smell like lime and tequila. Thanks, Stretch. 

“Relax,” a voice from one of the stalls says. You’re about to brush it off as a phone call when you realize that the voice is male. It’s smooth, silky, soothing. You think you’ve had a class with him before, maybe, judging by how familiar it is. What is a guy doing in the girl’s bathroom?

You glance over your shoulder as discreetly as you can. There are two pairs of shoes in one stall, leather combat boots and red stilettos. _Oh_ , you think. _They’re in there together._

“Fuck,” chokes out the female voice, sugar-sweet through a wet gasp. 

“Shh,” the male coos, "Shhhh. Easy, now. Slow.” 

“You’re pulling my hair!” 

The girl fixing her bun turns to you, eyes darting to the stall in silent communication. Your eyebrows waggle in reply. It’s so sleazy. Do they really not know how loud they’re being? That there’s other people in the bathroom? You’d leave to avoid the awkwardness, but you really have to piss.

The guy’s speaking again. “Shh, I’m sorry, I’ll be gentler. You’re doing so good.” 

There’s a bump or two against the stall. Movement from the guy, judging by how he repositions his feet.

Then the girl in the stall gasps, “ _Fuck, G_!” and a hot wave of nausea overtakes you. 

You barely manage to catch your breath before you dry-heave. Of course, those are his shoes. Of course, that’s his lovely voice, encouraging and soothing. Of course, the stilettos belong to Lana, who appears to be shaking in the shoes as she stands.

Of course, you’ve walked in on this. 

You need to walk out. Right now. You need to leave, to run, to-

Your knees buckle and your stomach churns so hard it tips over. It’s sudden, something you can’t hold back anymore. The girls on either side of you barely have any warning to step to the side before you tip forward, clutching the sink as you vomit down the drain. 

_Oh god._

Your throat aches. When you look up, you’re coughing. Your once-bright eyes are rimmed with the redness of inevitable tears. 

Not here. You can’t stay here. You can’t cry here. No. 

You use whatever motivation you have left in you to rip away a handful of paper towels and clean your face up as you make your way towards the exit. The sound of Lana’s gasping rings in your ears as you slam the door behind you.

That bottle of tequila is right where Winnie left it. It’s one of the heavier kinds, so it’s sat untouched, fortunately for you. The serving area is bustling, even and especially in the lateness of the evening. It’s pitch-black outside, but glowing with life here in the house. You shove your way through the crowd as they dance and mingle, plastic cups in hand.

It’s easy for you to grab hold of the bottle. _So_ easy to pop that little cork off. _Too_ easy to tip it back and let that gold poison slide down your throat like it’s water.

The potency leaves your mouth burning and stomach aflame with warmth. It feels like love. You keep drinking.

“well, shit, babydoll, what happened to pacin' ourselves?” 

When did Red walk up? Does it even matter?

“Fuck pacing,” you say between gulps. You don’t even look at him until you’ve downed probably half the bottle.

He’s got a skeletal hand on your shoulder, squeezing you gently. You think you may be imagining things, but he looks… concerned? He stares at you with sockets crinkled at the corners, as if he himself has witnessed everything you have tonight. 

“don’t wanna be nosy or anything, sweetheart, but what’s got you hittin’ the heavy shit?” His tone is different, despite his laid-back attitude still being there.

_You want to be happy._

_You want to forget._

_You want to feel loved._

“Why else?” You ask, whirling to face him. “I wanna get fucking tanked.”

Red smirks, even if he seems to be sweating a bit. He doesn’t look all that there, either. You’re not surprised, especially considering you haven’t seen him out of the kitchen-and-bar area all night. He can still stand, though, and when he grabs your hand in his you realize that he can walk pretty decently, too.

“well, a'ight then, dolly. c’mere.” 

The first shot goes down easy. It’s vodka, so cheap that you’d normally gag. You’re too busy trying to get drunk to worry over taste. Beggars can’t be choosers.

The next glass Red passes you is another shot, but it’s filled with a golden-orange liquid. He’s still holding onto one of your hands when you eye whatever he’s poured you with curiosity.

“cinnamon whiskey,” he clarifies, “prolly my favorite liquor.” The skeleton runs his thumb over the outside of your wrist, grazing the skin with his rough bones. It’s oddly comforting.

Well, if it’s his favorite… 

You down the shot and shiver at the taste. The whiskey’s cold, yet the cinnamon is so strong, and it’s surprisingly sweet. It reminds you of fall, crisp but comforting at the same time. And you know you need the comfort right now. 

“I want another,” you say, clinking the glass back onto the counter. 

Red only grins at you, leaning in. “gotta ask daddy nicely first, baby girl.” 

“You like being called _’daddy’_?” You snort. “Sorry, Red, I’m not that drunk.” 

“hey, it was worth a _shot_.” He hands you a full shot glass for emphasis. 

You down that one, and the one after that, and then the one after that, and even the one after _that_. In your head you count the shots, and then you probably chugged about four shots’ worth of tequila, so once you add it all together… You come to the conclusion that you are probably drunk. Okay, yeah, definitely drunk.

Minutes later, you’re feeling every last drop of liquor. It courses through your system like fire that dizzies you. You never stumble enough to fall, though; Red has your waist so tightly held that you hardly even trip. 

You end up with a _very_ strong cocktail in your other hand. Your name’s written on the side of the plastic cup, per typical party fashion. Red’s handwriting and hastiness has almost smudged each markered letter together, but you’re flattered that he did it for you and that he spelled correctly. You take big, long gulps, the ice crashing against your lips each time you tilt the cup. 

“you feeling any better, doll? or should I say _worse_?” The skeleton asks you after a while, during which you’ve left the bar and opted to wander together instead. 

“Much,” you reply. You’re not one to talk very much when drunk, and even if you were, you’re afraid of accidentally having a breakdown and spilling your sorrows. You’ve kept quiet, letting your friend do most of the talking. With a sigh, you take another drink. 

You’re in some living area off to the side, where most of the drunk loners have come to crash on loveseats and lounge chairs. A couple in the corner is doing some very intense cuddling on an armchair meant for one person. Even in such a dismal part of the party, though, music quietly wafts from a Bluetooth speaker.

_”I’m sorry if I seem uninterested_

_Or I’m not listenin’ or I’m indifferent_

_Truly, I ain’t got no business here_

_But since my friends are here_

_I just came to kick it…"_

“you okay, babe?” Red asks. He’s still got his arm around you, but you don’t mind. It’s almost endearing, how close he’s holding you, despite the roughness of his bony fingertips digging into your clothes. 

“Yeah, just spacing out. Listening to the music.” 

“you like it?”

“Yeah. It’s fitting.” 

_”...So you can go back_

_Please enjoy your party_

_I’ll be here…”_

You add, “Y’know, if you wanna get back to the party, I’ll-“

But the skeleton cuts you off with a growled, “no. clearly somethin’s wrong with you, dolly, but i ain’t gonna pry, and i’m only leavin’ you if you tell me you want me to. i came to this thing to get drunk, and i can get drunk right here with you. that a’ight?”

“Alright.” You try to fight the heat creeping up onto your face. Is it that obvious you’re upset? Can’t a girl just get sloshed with her friend without there being an ulterior motive? 

Either way, though, Red can read you. You’re not sure if that’s comforting or terrifying. 

“dance?” He asks suddenly. The hand that was around your waist has loosened a bit. “i ain’t much of a partner, but it might take your mind off shit.” 

Well you weren’t expecting that, not at all. Sweat beads on his skull, nearly pink in the low light. The music’s a nice, gentle pace, nothing to warrant grinding or anything ridiculous. You take a sip of your drink, and then set the cup down on a nearby table. Red’s beer clinks down right next to it. 

_”...Oh, here, oh, here, oh_

_I ask myself, what am I doing here_

_Oh, here, oh, here, oh_

_And I can’t wait till we can break up outta here…"_

He grabs hold of your hips with both hands, and his touch is gentler than you’d expect. You’re somewhat hesitant to put his arms around his neck, but you do. Your hands come to a clasp around his vertebrae. It almost feels human. Even if it didn’t, though, you don’t think you’d mind.

He’s the first to sway, with you following his slow rhythm. He’s not quite clumsy, but it’s clear he hasn’t done this ever, or at least not in a very long time. You were never much of a dancer, anyway, either. 

It isn’t hard for you to get in sync with one another. You don’t even do much, other than sway back and forth. Can this even be considered dancing? It’s not like any of the line dances you did in middle and high school, and it’s no grinding. 

Red holds you closer. You’ve never danced for comfort before.

_”…So tell them I’ll be here_

_Right next to the boy who’s throwing up_

_‘Cause he can’t take what’s in his cup no more_

_Oh god, why am I here…”_

You step closer, your face brushing the fur of his hoodie. It’s so soft, and smells just the way it did when he kissed your cheek last week. That was a week ago. You’ve only known him for two weeks, and yet here you are, drunk and dancing at a party neither of you really want to be at. Could you ever imagine yourself doing this before you met the monsters? 

Could he ever imagine doing this before meeting you? 

Could G? 

Does G even care? 

No, you shouldn’t think about him. You can’t, not when you were just feeling better, not right here. You brush it off. Push it down for later. 

_You can feel happy._

_You can forget._

_You can feel loved._

You lean closer to Red, letting his warmth overtake you and medicate your heartache. He says something under his whiskey-scented breath, something you can’t hear save for the gruff rumbling of his voice. 

“Hm?” You ask. You look up at him, faces close in the darkness.

Red flushes across his cheeks, his whole skull crimson as he grumbles, “i said, you look fuckin’ gorgeous.”

“Thanks.” 

You drift with him, slowly, lazily, alone in the sleepy room of sleepier people. With each rock of your hips you’re lulled more and more.

_”…Yo, I’ll be over here_

_Oh, here, oh, here, oh_

_I ask myself, what am I doing here_

_Oh, here, oh, here, oh_

_And I can’t wait till we can break up outta here…”_

The music fades with your vision, lost in Red's arms.

Somehow, you wake in your own bed. The dorm room is pitch-black, and your head throbs. A glance at your phone tells you it’s 2:33 a.m. 

_How did you get here?_

Considering the last thing you remember is falling asleep during your dance with Red, you figure that he took you home. You mentally remind yourself to thank him later. He’s most likely asleep now, in his room down the hall. 

_G’s probably not in his room_ , a voice in your head chimes, and it’s all you can manage to not groan. You don’t want to even _think_ about where he might be (or who he might be with, ugh.) Nevertheless, your chest seems to ache at the memory. You can’t even stop yourself from going over it all again. Your mind’s too fast.

_The couch. The bathroom. The shoes in the stall. The gasping, the choking, the “Fuck, G!”_

Fuck G. 

You don’t want to be alone.

You do your best to fix your appearance in the mirror. Your makeup is smeared, so you wipe the excess off to even it out. The flower is still in your hair, which doesn’t look too terrible. What’s even better is that your outfit is still on. Red was chivalrous enough not to take your clothes off before he tucked you in. That’s… refreshing. 

You have a feeling that a certain someone is awake at this hour. You’re fairly confident about it, actually. It’s enough to propel you out the door and down the hallway. Ah, yes, there’s light under the doorway. You were right.

You aren’t going to be alone tonight. 

You stand at the door and knock.

  



	19. Wild Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The song in the notes and the mood for the chapter is "Where the Wild Roses Grow" by Nick Cave and Kylie Minogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “From the first day I saw her  
> I knew she was the one  
> As she stared in my eyes and smiled.  
> For her lips were the color of the roses  
> That grew down the river,  
> All bloody and wild.”
> 
>   
> 

  


“My dear, what are you doing awake at this hour?"

When Wings opens the door, he peers down at you curiously. He’s dressed as impeccably as he was when you met him last week, down to the crisp black coat that hugs him so well. 

You’re so busy staring that you almost forget to answer his question.

“It’s a long story.” Short, sweet, concise. You feel as if you attempt to explain everything right now, you’ll cry. 

He eyes your figure in the hallway, analytic gaze dragging up your legs, around your waist, over your neck, and finally landing at your face. “I would expect nothing less.”

You sigh, “I thought you’d be up. I don’t want to intrude, though, if you’re busy.”

What does he even do in there all day long? As far as you can tell, he’s nocturnal. You make a mental note to ask him at some point, considering all he seems concerned with is talking about _you_. You don’t mind that, though. 

“I could _never_ be too engrossed to not welcome your company. After all, your sheer presence is utterly charming.” He holds the door open for you, arm sweeping across the worn wood. “Do come in.” 

Despite the fact that you’ve been here before, anxiety gnaws at your insides. Should you really have come here at 2:30 in the morning? Should you have come here at all? Maybe you should brush the invitation off, say something about being tired all of a sudden. You glance back at Wings, at the unwaveringly enticing smile on his face. The hallway behind him is empty, fluorescent lights flickering into a tired oblivion.

You take one more step into the room and the door shuts behind you. 

The first thing you notice is the smell. With the sterile scent of the hallway now gone, you now pick up the aroma of freshly-cooked something. There’s rosemary and garlic in the air, warmed from the stove. It’s so appetizing. The deeper you breathe, the louder your stomach growls.

“I’ve just prepared dinner. I hope you don’t mind.” 

Oh, you don’t mind _at all_ , especially when the tall, lean monster opens the oven and pulls an entire rack of lamb out. It smells divine, and looks just as such, sizzling on the baking sheet. The meat’s cooked just right, too. 

Your stomach threatens to rumble its way out of your body, and you remember that all you’ve eaten in the past 6 hours are stray pizza rolls. Wings eyes his food with both pride and hunger. He doesn’t strike you as the type to share.

Okay, so maybe you mind a little. How can you sit here while he devours all that lamb? It smells. So. _Good._

However, the next time you look up, the skeleton has a large, serrated knife in his hands. He slices the meat clean in half, with little-to-no effort. To add to the confusion, he takes two porcelain plates down from a top cabinet.

He must read the bafflement on your face, for he turns and says, “Pardon my assumption, but you look positively _famished_. Won’t you grab a plate?”

You’re nervous, but hunger outweighs hesitation. You don’t miss how pleased he looks when you pick the top plate up from the stack and grab the metal tongs. After taking the smaller half of the rack, your bring your plate and a bundle of silverware to the coffee table in the middle of the room. 

How can this compare to party snacks? You have to force yourself not to lunge at your plate as you wait on Wings to sit with his plate. It’s only polite, after all, and he _did_ just half his dinner with you. When the monster does place his plate onto the table, though, he only walks back to the kitchen with his coat swaying behind him. He grabs one thing from a cabinet, and another from the fridge.

“These will complement the meat well,” he muses as he turns. In one spindly hand he grips a bottle of red wine, and in the other, a pomegranate. The wine bottle looks expensive. You’d struggle to pronounce the brand if you tried. You contemplate asking for water instead; after all, you’re already hungover, if not still slightly drunk.

Before you can say anything, he slides a glass full of the liquid in your direction, so deep in color that it’s nearly black. You can feel his eyes on you as you press the glass to your lips and tilt it up, taking a cautionary sip. _Oh, that’s rich._

“That’s nice, thank you,” you muse, setting the glass down. 

Wings holds the pomegranate over a pristine white bowl. With the fingertips of both hands digging into the fruit, he rips it straight down the middle. Bright red seeds drop down and clink into the bowl, disturbed by the break. The skeleton works furthermore into the fruit, tearing at the flesh within to expose more of the fruit. The seeds keep falling like tiny rubies, little by little, all scattering under his touch.

The bowl is filled halfway, and with nothing but an empty pink shell in his hands, your dining partner smiles and places the remnants of the pomegranate in the garbage. Something in the pit of your stomach feels bad for it. 

“Now, pet,” Wings chides, “we may eat.”

The lamb is tender, and tastes as good as it smells. It’s seasoned impeccably. You try so hard to look neat and ladylike as you eat at the ribs, but that proves to be a difficult challenge. However, you’re not sure why you feel it’s so important for Wings to think of you like that. 

The tall skeleton works his way through his half of the rack with a hungry sort of precision. It’s almost strategic, the way he slices off each rib and leaves the bone clean. He must be ravenous, to eat so quickly. Part of you is almost guilty for eating half of his (dinner? He called it dinner, but it’s 3 a.m.). You really didn’t need to intrude on him like this.

“Please, my dear, help yourself,” he tells you, pushing the bowl of pomegranate towards you. It appears he doesn’t share the same sentiment you do about taking his food.

You take several red seeds from the bowl and pop them into your mouth. When you bite down, bursts of candy-like sweetness hit your tongue. You chase it with the wine, letting the fruity undertones mingle. Before you know it, the glass is over halfway empty. Wet red stains drip down its insides.

Wings clears his throat. “I must admit, lovely girl, you never fail to leave me intrigued. Do tell me what occurred to deposit you at my door this morning.”

Oh. He really wants to know. And you’re really, _really_ trying to forget about it. You’d been doing so well over dinner. 

“It’s...” you begin, trailing off and opting for another sip of wine. You try to ignore the way your voice quavered on just that one word. 

“Yes, I recall you referred to it before as a _’long story’_. However, though, you still can’t seem to grasp just how _enamored_ I am. I’m indifferent to any inhibitions you may have. Please do elaborate on this _’story’_ for me.” When Wings prompts you again, it comes out like a purr. 

Your wine’s finished and your plate’s empty. With no distractions left, you heave a sigh and begin talking.

“So it started with this party that happened today-er, last night. I went to it, and then a few of the other skeletons wanted to come too.” You speak slowly, so as to easier control your emotions, if you even can.

“Which ones?” 

You don’t even want to say his name. 

“Uh, Stretch, Red, Edge...” With only one more skeleton left to name, you breathe in, sucking the air in deeply before exhaling. Calm. Stay calm.

But Wings is even more intrigued. “You’re associating with _those_ two heathens? At least the first one you mentioned has some reserve about him, but the others? Tch, they’re utterly _barbaric_.” When he curls his malleable mouth into a sneer, you realize you’ve never noticed just how sharp his teeth are. They’re almost fang-like, white and glistening under the light.

Though it’d make sense for him to despise Edge and Red, considering the contrast in personalities, you’re still surprised by how quick Wings is to ridicule them. If you think about it, the three of them seem similar in some odd way. You don’t understand how, though.

When you look up at him seconds later, though, your wine glass is full again and he’s back to his cordial smile. “Do continue, though, my dear. I apologize for the interruption. Who else went with you?”

Some part of you hoped he’d be derailed enough to forget that you were talking. Fuck. 

All you can do is take a sip of wine, clear your throat again, and try not to squeak out, “G…” Shit, you squeaked, and now you’re blushing, and now you’re shaking because _of course_ you can’t even say his name without freaking out.

“Ah,” Wings sighs, “quite the Casanova, isn’t he?” His grin is bitter, almost condescending. You have a very strong feeling that he doesn’t mean it. 

“That’s one thing you could call him,” you mumble, but even as you try to keep your voice low you croak. Anxiety builds in your stomach, and the words pile up in your throat like bile. 

“I take it that _he_ is the source of all your emotional distress?”

“Maybe.” Another sip of wine, another bitten-back whimper. You’re beginning to lose your composure. 

The skeleton sighs, leaning slightly into the table. “But what could _he_ of all of them possibly have done to…” You see the moment it dawns on him, when he cuts himself off and meets your gaze. His deep voice is a silvery rasp. 

“Oh, my dear, you’ve been betrayed.” 

_Betrayed._

And with that one word you break, head in your hands as you let go of the tears that have been building up since you heard G with Lana in the bathroom. They slip down your face, wet and heavy with the weight of all you’ve witnessed. Your cheeks burn. Messy, choked cries work their way out of your mouth in sporadic explosions. You don’t know how long you stay there, shaking and sobbing.

Part of you is glad that you’ve covered your eyes, because you don’t want to see Wings’ expression. You’re embarrassed for breaking down in front of him, humiliated that he has to see you like this. Why did you even come here? Why did you think it was a good idea? You’ve invited yourself into Wings’ room, eaten half of his dinner, and now you’re _crying_ in front of him. 

God, you’re a wreck. You can’t even speak.

You feel something brush your left hand. The brush turns into a grip as bone curls around flesh, firm and unyielding. Your other hand is next, your right in his left. His touch is intense, but somehow still calming. Your hands are pulled to the table, cradled in his on the mahogany wood. 

His gaze travels across your face, from your bloodshot eyes to your half-open lips to the tears dripping from your chin. 

You can’t hide from him anymore.

“Hush, now,” Wings rasps. “I can assure you that _he_ isn’t worth your tears.” 

In response, you sniffle. You still don’t have control over your voice. It quavers, cutting mid-sentence as you try to explain yourself.

“But we- the kissing and- he said we were a thing and-“

“Shh. Hush.” He runs his bony fingers over your hands, gently, methodically. “If he was foolish enough to take you and your affections for granted, then he is even more of an _imbecile_ than I perceived.” 

You start, “But he-“

“My sweet, with all due respect to you and your judgement, it sounds as if you are about to defend a monster who so clearly betrayed you.”

There’s that word again. _Betrayed._ That’s what G did. It comes back to you again: the moaning, the banging, everything. There isn’t any other way around it.

Fuck, you’re tearing up again. 

Wings’ hand drifts up to your face, grazing your cheek and the tears dripping down it. Saltwater pools at his phalanges. You lean into his touch, soft skin grazing scarred knuckles.

“Please don’t fret over the matter. I cannot stand to see you in such a state. If anything, it is _he_ who should be lamenting over his _idiotic_ mistake. Only an utter fool would let go of something so precious, so beautiful...” 

You look up and across the coffee table, into the gleaming red lights of his eyes. They sparkle like pomegranate seeds, nearly hypnotic in the light.

“You think I’m beautiful?” You ask him.

“Utterly lovely.” His thumb drifts downward, brushing over your lips. “Such beauty puts Venus to shame.” The rest of his fingers ghost over your jaw and cup your cheek. He leans over the short length of the table so effortlessly. 

When did he get so close? When did the tears on your face dry? 

“You are like a flower, delicate and wild and beautiful all the same.” His eyes flick upwards and he says, “And I assume you liked the roses.” 

So he sent them. You had your guesses, but knowing sets your mind at ease. The gesture was a generous one that you still appreciate, even a day later.

You tell him, “I did. Thank you.” His thumb just nearly goes into your mouth. 

“My dear, it is a pleasure. You are enthralling, through happiness and sorrow, through morning and evening. I would never _betray_ you. I would _never_ so much as think to _abandon_ you.” 

Wings leans closer to you, running his thumb over your lower lip. His gaze is a wondrous one, pondering your face with thoughts you can’t pin down or understand. 

“Never?” You rasp. You can taste the wine on your own breath, and smell it on his, rich and decadent. The skeleton tilts your chin up further. 

“Never.” 

With that, he closes the gap between your mouths. His kiss is a light one that, while not as passionate as G’s, has its own intrigue that causes you to lean into him. 

Wings runs a hand through your hair while the fingers holding your chin drift downward. His mouth presses against your lips again, soft but carrying an intensity you can feel in every bone of your body. The brushing, breezing touches feel like whirlwinds of adrenaline. He grips your neck in a firm possession that, after the heartache you’ve endured tonight, you need.

He pulls away just as smoothly as he leaned in, and you have to catch your breath. You taste Pinot Noir and pomegranates on your tongue.

Under his breath, Wings whispers something to himself, but all you can catch is “...so soft...” and “...understand now why the others...”

When he catches your eye, though, the slender skeleton merely chuckles and fingers the flower in your hair, the flower he got you. You feel a stray thorn prick at your ear.

He purrs, “My wild rose, you’re never going to stop intriguing me, are you?”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “On the second day,  
> I brought her a flower.  
> She was more beautiful  
> Than any woman I’d seen.  
> I said, ‘Do you know  
> Where the wild roses grow,  
> So sweet and scarlet and free?’”
> 
>   
> 


	20. Sunshine Hangover

  


You don’t remember what time you end up getting back into your room, but you fall asleep quickly. In fact, you don’t even wake until a ruckus in the hallway rouses you.

Your still-bleary eyes blink open just enough so that you can check the time. 1:20. Fuck, you’ve already slept half of the day away. That’s what happens when you’re up through the early morning. Thank you, Wings.

For a brief moment you recall your night with him: the luxurious dinner, the impromptu venting session, and the kiss you practically drifted into. You were left feeling like you were floating. He wasn’t forceful at all. You sank into it like deep water, you _wanted_ it. It was… nice. _Thank you, Wings._

The noises coming from the hallway get louder. They’re voices, prominent through the silence of your room. Well, it’s one voice in particular.

“…SO GLAD TO BE BACK AT OUR NEW TEMPORARY HOME! I CAN’T WAIT TO DO MY LAUNDRY!” Oh, that sounds like Papyrus. Are he, Sans, and Gaster back already? Well, it is one in the afternoon. You knew they were coming back today, anyway. "MAYBE I SHOULD GO VISIT _____!” 

Your ears perk up when you hear your name. Yeah, that’s definitely Papyrus. Are the other two out in the hallway as well? You’re fairly certain he wouldn’t just talk to himself. You crane your neck, tilting your head towards the door to try and hear better. After a moment, you can pick up Sans’ baritone voice.

“…hasn’t answered her texts, bro. she might still be asleep.” 

Oh, they texted you? After glancing at your phone, you see that you do indeed have several notifications from various skeletons. Is this your life now? You have two missed calls and three texts from Papyrus, one text from Sans, another text from Red, two texts from Blueberry, and… a call from G? 

“NONSENSE,” Papyrus booms, “SHE’S SURELY AWAKE BY NOW! _____ ISN’T NEARLY AS LAZY AS YOU, BROTHER!” 

Given the time and the fact that you’re still in bed, you’d beg to differ. With a sigh, you glance back to your phone.

G called you. You stare at the notification, your face burning. He left a voicemail, too. _Probably to tell you that you’re over_ , you tell yourself. _That he fucked Lana and he, like a decent percentage of the university's population, has fallen for her._ An ache builds itself in your stomach. Should you even listen to it? 

You don’t even get to make the decision before there’s a boisterous knock at the door. The air is cold without your blankets over you. It takes a moment to get off of the bed, during which there’s another knock. 

“Coming!” you call, too-long pajama pants brushing against the carpet. 

You’re not surprised in the least when you open the door to find Sans and Papyrus standing there. They don’t have their luggage with them, so you assume they’ve been here long enough to put it up in their dorm room. For a moment you wonder where Gaster is.

“Hey, guys! You’re back!” You greet. 

“THAT WE ARE!” Papyrus ropes you into a hug that just nearly knocks the wind out of you. Your legs swing back and forth as you’re lifted off of the ground. “AND YOU’RE AWAKE!” 

“Of course I am, Paps, it’s 1:30!” you reply when he puts you down. You’re sure he’d be disappointed in your sleeping habits if he knew. He probably wouldn’t be too happy with the company you’ve been keeping, if he knew.

Sans only eyes your pajamas at your words, a knowing smile on his skull. You don’t make eye contact with him.

“Where’s Gaster?” You ask them both. “I thought you were coming back together.”

“GASTER… NEEDED ALONE TIME, I THINK,” Papyrus says.

When you look to Sans for more of an explanation, his grin only widens. “he’s so hungover.”

You try to think of Gaster getting drunk. He’s been nothing short of an eloquent gentleman, if not a straight-laced stickler. Well, there was the wine shopping, and you might remember him mentioning having some scotch or something… Can skeletons have headaches? Can they really drink so much that they’re unable to function the next day, like you’re struggling to?

Whatever Gaster’s currently feeling, you empathize with it.

“Same,” You grumble.

The short skeleton only snorts. 

You invite them inside to talk about their week, as well as yours. Papyrus situates himself on your couch, while Sans scoots out your desk chair and sits backwards in it. You take a seat next to Papyrus, the green cushion sinking under your weight. 

“How was the conference?” You ask. 

“well, staying here and sleeping would've been better,” Sans says. 

“SANS, YOU SAY THAT EVERY TIME WE HAVE TO GO SOMEWHERE!”

“am I wrong though?” 

“YES!” 

You can’t help but giggle at their banter. Typically, you hate listening to people bicker, but they’re almost cute about it. 

“_____, I MET SO MANY NEW PEOPLE. I WENT TO SO MANY DINNERS, AND THERE WAS A GALA, TOO! YOUR CAPITOL _CERTAINLY_ WASN’T EXPECTING THE LIKES OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS!” The taller skeleton is turned to you, the lights in his sockets bright. His arm rests on the back of the couch behind you.

“I doubt they could ever be ready for someone as awesome as you,” you tell him. “I bet you blew them away, Paps."

Somehow, he brightens up even more. Ironically, he looks immensely lively. He’s a cute skeleton, a handsome one, even. His porcelain-like features are tinted bright scarlet, matching the scarf around his neck. 

He stammers, “WELL, I- I MEAN, OF COURSE I- OBVIOUSLY, BUT THAT’S JUST SO-“ He cuts himself off by shouting, “I NEED TO GO POWDER MY NOSE! EXCUSE ME!” With that, the tall skeleton springs up and dashes into your bathroom, shutting the door behind him. 

He doesn’t even have a nose.

Part of you wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but you’re left with your mouth half-open. 

“ _nose_ need to sweat it, kid. he’s just flustered.” Sans breaks the newly-created silence with a pun, staring at you from the desk chair.

“Flustered?” You arch an eyebrow up. What made him blush and freak out so much?

“paps is super great n’ all, seriously, he’s the best. but in all honesty, _snot_ every day that someone compliments him like that. not genuinely, at least. it freaks him out a bit, is all."

“Oh,” is all you can say. Your eyes wander to the closed bathroom door, where Papyrus is undoubtedly trying to calm down. It was just a lighthearted comment, even if you really did mean it. 

“i’m not used to seeing anyone wanna stick around us so much, ‘sides a couple of our monster friends.” This time, when Sans looks up at you, his smile looks different. It seems looser at the edges, softer against the bone. Oh. “so, uh, thanks.” 

“I want to spend _more_ time with you, though. We’ve only hung out for a week before you’ve had to leave!” 

Now it’s his turn to flush an almost-denim color across his cheekbones. 

“uh. sure.” 

He’s busy refusing to make eye contact when Papyrus bursts out of the bathroom suddenly. He seems to be back to his normal demeanor, which settles you.

“THAT REMINDS ME! SANS! DO YOU STILL HAVE THE GIFT WE GOT THE HUMAN?” 

“yep.” 

They got you a gift while on their business trip? They actually saw something and thought about you? What is it? Maybe it’s an airbrush t-shirt with your name on it, or one of those pretty stoneware coffee mugs you’ve been seeing all over the place. 

“WELL?” The tall skeleton demands. Gloved hands on his hips, he taps his foot. You’ve noticed that his movements are almost comical. “WHERE IS IT?"

“in my pocket.”

Your present is in Sans' jacket pocket? Now that you look, the left pocket of his hoodie does seem full. What did they get you that Sans had to put in his pocket? So much for that coffee mug, you guess. 

The shorter skeleton grins, reaches into his hoodie pocket, and takes out a bundle of fabric. It’s wadded, so you have to unfold it until it’s…

A pair of socks. They’re about knee-height, black, and covered with little white skeletons. Each and every skull and ribcage is small, delicately stitched onto the fabric. They’re so fucking cute.

“THEY’RE RIDICULOUS, I KNOW,” Papyrus declares, watching your stare. “SANS SAW THEM AND _INSISTED_ ON GETTING THEM FOR YOU."

You look up at the boys, at Sans’ shit-eating smile and Papyrus’ exasperation, and then back at the socks. You can’t help but laugh. 

“see, paps? told you she’d like ‘em.”

“Oh my god, I love them,” you tell them between giggles. “I love them a skele- _ton_.” 

Papyrus only scoffs, but through your squinted eyes you can see his smile.

Sans and Papyrus leave shortly after giving you the socks. You’ve missed them, but you’re still ridiculously hungover and they told you they wanted to settle in before doing anything else. With the rain check in place, you put on your new socks and get back into bed. 

It’s quick answering texts from earlier. All of the ones from Sans and Papyrus are about them getting back and wanting to see you, so you dismiss them. 

_Red: how ya feelin_

_You: could be better. thanks for taking me home btw._

That was surprisingly considerate of him. Parts of last night are a blur, but you can’t forget the time you spent with him getting slap-ass drunk. Did you two dance together? Did you remember that right? You danced with _Red_? 

With a shrug, you move on to Blueberry’s messages.

_BB Blue: _____ ARE YOU OKAY!!!???? STRETCH SAID THAT THE PARTY WAS SUPER WILD AND I WANTED TO MAKE SURE YOU WERE ALRIGHT!!!! PLEASE CALL OR TEXT ME WHEN YOU CAN!!!!!! *several blue heart emojis*_

_BB Blue: _____!!!! IT IS NOON!!!! I WOULD REALLY LIKE TO HEAR FROM YOU SOON!!!! I UNDERSTAND IF YOU NEED TO NAP, THOUGH!!!! I NEED TO NAP TODAY TOO, MY STOMACH HURTS FROM EATING TOO MANY HOMEMADE COOKIES WITH DINGS AND GREEN LAST NIGHT!!!!! STRETCH ALSO SAID HE ATE TOO MANY COOKIES BUT HE MIGHT BE ASLEEP ALL WEEKEND!!!!! BUT PLEASE MESSAGE ME BACK WHEN YOU CAN!!!! *several blue heart emojis*_

You can’t help but laugh at Blueberry’s cute texts. The heart emojis are a bit much, but they’re just so precious. It takes you a second to stop giggling enough to type out a reply.

_You: I’m here Blue! I’m okay! You’re so sweet to check on me! Take care of yourself and your brother today!_

All that’s left is the one thing you’ve been trying not to even think about. G’s voicemail sits in your inbox, timestamped at approximately 3 a.m., and unopened. 

Should you?

Staring at it isn’t going to do anything. Either way, it’s there. No matter what, he’s said what he’s wanted to say. Your stomach churns at the possibilities, at the words you haven’t even heard. He’s under the impression that you’ll listen to it. It was meant for you to hear. You exhale, long and slow, and press the play button.

The phone is halfway to your ear when there’s another knock at your door. While you walk, that silvery voice hits your ear.

_”Hey, angel, I just left the party. Couldn’t help but lose track of you in there, but I’m sorry, that’s my bad.”_

The door swings open and you wish you could close it immediately. There he is. You still hear his voice through the phone, raspy, smokey, irresistible. You never resisted him.

_”Anyways, uh, I could tell you’re not a big party person, so I hope you really had fun. I’d heard you’d gotten home safe, so that’s a lot of worry put to ease there. I wish I could’ve spent more time with you, honestly. But, ah, I just got held up, and by the time I was free you’d gone home."_

In person, he finally speaks after a few seconds of straight silence. 

“Hey, babe.”

G’s wearing the same clothes he did yesterday. That leather jacket looks crisp as always, and those boots are un-scuffed. Just as shiny as they were in that bathroom stall. _Held up, your ass._

_”I really miss you, kitten. I’ll come by and see you sometime tomorrow, just to see how you’re doing, if that’s alright. Thanks for bringing me along to this party, it was real sweet of you. I’ll see you tomorrow."_

When the voicemail finally ends, your hands are shaking. You’re unable to speak, but he only pulls you into his grasp. His phalanges are gentle around your waist, practiced, like he’s done this a thousand times before.

Who knows how many girls he held last night? It’s a bullshit hold. He’s bullshit. Nothing but it. You can’t help the scowl growing on your face. The memories you’ve tried so hard to repress flood back, one by one, every sight, every sound, every word.

His arm around Lana as she obviously flirted with him. The worry that grew in the pit of your stomach when you couldn't find him later on. The shouting in the bathroom stall, and the thudding, and the gasps of a girl that wasn't you.

_Betrayed._

You look into G’s eyes, those gold-tinted sockets bright with adoration. _Liar. Faker. Bullshit._.

“Angel?”

You swear you’ve never torn yourself out of someone’s grasp faster.

  



	21. Oh, the Hypocrisy

  


G clearly wasn’t expecting you to push him away. He reaches out to you again, bony palm up. His voice is soft with the wrinkling of his skull.

“Kitten, sweetheart, what’s going on?”

“You know what’s going on,” you scoff. At this point, your eyes have narrowed to irate slits. You’re not playing this game. You’re done. 

“Uh, actually, I don’t,” he says. “What’s wrong? Do you not feel well or something?”

Your tone is clipped. “I’m nauseous, but maybe it’s because I’m just sick of your _bullshit_.”

“My _what_?” G shuts the door behind him, stepping into your room fully. When he steps forward, you step back. He fixes you with another incredulous gaze. “Seriously, angel, what’s up with you? You’ve got me worried.” 

He’s _worried_ about you, what _bullshit_. You can’t help but snort at all the ridiculousness. 

“Maybe you should be worried about _Lana_ instead,” you shoot back. There, now he knows what’s wrong. He knows he’s caught.

“Lana? What about her?” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” You don’t even have to force your voice louder. It does so on its own, rising with your temper. 

“_____, seriously, what are you _talking_ about?” Now he’s losing his patience. 

_He’s just angry because you’re onto him,_ you think to yourself. You dig your heels into the cheap kitchen tile. You’re not losing your composure, you’re not backing down. You refuse.

“Jesus Christ, G, I’m not a fucking idiot! Cut it with the ignorant shtick.” You spit his name like it’s venom. What once was so refreshing to say is now sour poison on your tongue. 

He exclaims, “I _would_ cut it if I genuinely had _any fucking idea_ what you meant!” 

“The party last night! What did you do at the party?!” You grit your teeth. You’ll get this fucking confession from him. You’re drawing it out of him if it’s the last thing you do. 

“We had a few drinks together?! I mingled and made a couple friends after we separated?! Why’d you mention Lana? What are you getting at?” He props his elbow against the doorway to the kitchen, gaze boring into you. You haven’t even realized that you’ve stepped back into your bedroom, or that he’s stepped forward. 

“Do I have to spell it out?” You ask him, seething. “I was in the bathroom, G! I fucking heard you!” 

“You heard _what_?” He’s deadpan, dead-serious. 

“Don’t make me say it!” You sneer back at him, countering his stance. 

“No, you know what, I am! You might as well, with all your passive-aggressive tiptoeing!” He shouts, “_____, what’d you hear in the bathroom?!” 

You have to say it, so you scream it with the might of all your fury. “I heard you _fucking_ her, G! I heard you fuck Lana in that goddamn bathroom stall!” 

The silence that follows is too heavy for you to carry. It drifts through the air with the last notes of your words. You heave deep breaths, seeing red in the heat of your room. 

And then G _laughs_. It’s a dry, mean laugh that he huffs out while you glare him down. Does he think this is funny?

“Ha,” he barks, “you think I fucked her? Some random girl I met at a party?” He’s smiling, but his eyes convey his irritation. 

For some reason, this unsettles you.

“I know you did,” you reply. “I heard you in the act.” 

“In the bathroom, you mean? You heard us together in the bathroom?” G arches a socket up. You don’t like the way he’s beginning to look pleased with himself. Is he really so cocky about being caught, or...

“Yes, that’s what I said.” You try not to let your tone quaver, but it does. 

“Are you sure?” He leans forward to look you straight in the eyes, and there’s that smile again. His voice is unnervingly calm. “Because as convinced as you are that I fucked her, the only thing I did to Lana in that bathroom was hold her hair as she vomited her fucking guts out.” 

Your blood runs cold. 

You break his stare long enough to think back to last night. Okay, you were in the bathroom, looking at your face in the mirror. The first thing you heard from the stall was G telling Lana to relax. Okay, that’s not terrible. And then the first time she spoke..

_”Fuck,” she gasped out…_

That’s… hard to discern. She seemed pretty choked up. Perhaps it was with bile? Maybe?

You glance back to G, who’s back to leaning against the wall. He’s stone-cold and silent as he watches you contemplate what he’s said. 

_”You’re pulling my hair!” She’d exclaimed._

Well, that lines up with his claim. He likely held it tightly, and it’s hard to _not_ pull hair when you hold it. And _he_ never moaned or grunted, not that you can recall. The only things he said were shushes and words of encouragement, which _also_ makes sense. But...

You look up at him. “I saw your shoes and positioning. She was standing. Who stands as they throw up?” 

G shrugs, “A hyper-chic college student afraid of the dirty frat bathroom. Couldn’t blame her; that floor looked _disgusting_.”

You only nod in response, and continue to think. That lines up, but…

“Why were _you_ in there? Why not any of her other friends? Lana’s a popular girl, and that was the _women’s_ bathroom.”

“Honestly, I think it was a convenience thing,” the tall skeleton replies. “I was the one she was talking to when she got nauseous. You say she’s popular, but I didn’t see any friends willing to help her.” After this, G snorts. “You think I _wanted_ to be in a crowded bathroom stall with a girl I barely knew? I mean, Lana’s a nice girl, but I’m not interested, _especially_ not when I’m with someone.” 

That sounds legitimate, too. Heaving a sigh, you prop yourself against your bedpost. You heard what you heard, and up until now you’ve been _so convinced_ that G cheated on you. It’d be so easy to just take his story an make amends, but some part of you still doesn’t want to believe him.

Before you can reply, though, he speaks up again.

“Look, _____, I don’t know what else to tell you. I can walk you through the entire night, tell you every single thing I said to every single person, timestamps and all, but I have a feeling that even after that, you still won’t believe me completely.” He sighs, shaking his skull back and forth. “I adore you, I really do, and I _swear_ I wouldn’t ever do something like that. I _want_ you to believe me, and I wish there was something I could do to convince you that I didn’t get with the first girl I talked to. When it comes down to it, though, it’s up to you to believe me or not. And I respect you enough to give you that choice, no matter what it is.” 

“Oh,” is all you can say. You take another deep breath. It’s your choice. You've asked him all the questions you can think of at the moment, and he’s answered them with decent backing. It’s your choice. He _swears_ he wouldn’t ever cheat, that he isn’t even interested in Lana. It’s your choice. All yours. 

You look up at G. He was the first to kiss you, the first to actually _tell_ you he liked you. He spent time with you at the party until _you_ wanted to separate. He left that voicemail last night, too, and the way he looked at you when you opened the door earlier was just so sweet. 

Is there really any evidence left in your favor?

“I believe you,” you sigh, and cross the room. Your arms start to open for a hug, but the tall skeleton stops you.

“Hold on, now,” he tells you. “We’re not done yet.”

He unlocks his phone, and you watch him tap at it for a second. When he flips it around to show you, you see a video that’s been opened on the internet. You barely have to catch the sight of Stretch on top of you on a dining table to know exactly what it is. 

“Oh shit,” you murmur.

“So yeah,” G says, “let’s talk about this.”

You glance again at the webpage, and recognize its color scheme. 

“Oh my god, is that Pornhub?” 

“Yep,” he pops the ‘p’ with a surprising sharpness. 

Oh god, you’re on Pornhub. You didn’t even think a body-shot would classify as porn, but hey, people are into weird shit, and you’re sure you’re not the first body-shot to be posted on the website. Your shirt’s off and a skeleton is _licking you_. Yeah, that might as well be porn. 

“Holy shit,” you gasp, “I’m on Pornhub.” 

G rolls his eyes. “Yeah, because some other guy was _licking up your body_.”

“It was just a shot,” you defend. Well, it was a shot you took out of spite for him, but nevertheless, your statement stands. You didn’t mean anything deep by it, truly. 

“Really, now?” He cocks an eye socket upwards. With a tap of a bony finger on his phone, the video is fast-forwarded. You’re now looking at the near-end, where Stretch takes the lime from your mouth. You cringe as you watch his mouth graze yours, to the point of near-kissing. Wait, do you two touch? You look closer, and realize that there’s hardly a gap between you.

G asks you, “Just a shot?” and the annoyance in his expression makes something within you click. 

Oh. You see the problem now. You had the nerve to accuse G of doing things with someone else, drag it out and rub it in his face, while you did the very same thing with reckless abandon. It’s even to the point that everyone knows what you’ve done. 

And now it’s come back to him. He holds the evidence in his hands, evidence of your spite and carelessness.

“Shit, G,” you sigh, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that to you. I just thought of it as a casual thing, but I did it anyway because I wanted to, and then I freaked out when I thought you’d done something with Lana.” With another huff of your breath, you dare to meet his eyes. “Guess I’m just a hypocrite, huh?” 

He doesn’t accept nor refute your statement. “I’m not opposed to you doing things or being with Stretch, or Red, or any of the others. Honestly, I’m fine with it. They’re good guys. I trust them, for the most part. I’d just rather you have talked to me about it first. _____, you didn’t know if I’d be fine with that stunt or not, and you did it anyway. Now it’s all over the internet, it’s on _porn sites_ , for Christ’s sake, and last night I had people asking me about you. About what you were doing, what we were.” 

“But we’re…” You start, and trail off. _A thing_ , your mind supplies, _just a thing, and nothing more._ If it was okay for you to have Stretch lave his tongue over your breasts, then why wasn’t it okay for G to flirt with Lana (even if he didn’t)? 

“Yeah,” he nods. “Exactly. A _thing_ that we didn’t even discuss before jumping into.” The tall skeleton raises his arms, leaning back and propping himself up. He looks you up and down, shakes his head. “It’s not that I regret jumping into it, because _hell_ , I fucking don’t. You’re incredible. it’s just… damn, we really _did_ rush into it.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. Feeling exhausted already, you plop down into the desk chair. “I shouldn’t have thrown such a fit over you and Lana, without even _talking to you_ about what happened, especially when I did all that with Stretch. We should’ve talked about this all first.” The next words come to you reluctantly. "If you want to get with anyone, then-"

“Nah,” he cuts you off. “I don’t want to get with anyone else. Really, I just want you. That’s it. I was more talking about _you_ and what _you_ needed to be happy. We didn’t really discuss it, and now, well, here we are.” 

“Oh,” you say, “that’s… really sweet of you to think of me like that.” When you look up at him again, though, you see the hurt in his eyes. The still-bright gold sockets are rimmed with something dull, something shallow that strikes a chord in your soul. He didn’t even _do_ anything. You’re the one who went behind his back, and all just to spite him. _You_ hurt _him_.

You try to get closer to him, and he lets you. You do so gently, and reach for his face. His skull is smooth to the touch, but you don’t like the downward turn of his mouth. 

“I’m sorry, G,” you say softly. “I really am.” 

“Me too,” he says, and the smile he cracks is tragic. He puts one of his hands up to yours as it grazes his face, holding it. “We _really_ should’ve thought this through.” 

“We can now, though,” you offer. “No rushing, no miscommunications, just… thinking before we do it?” 

For a moment, he only glances away from you. Would he refuse you? After all this, all the arguing, all the false accusations, all the apologizing? You care for him, that’s undebatable, and he’s said he does the same for you. You just got him, just three days ago. How can so much happen in three days?

G finally sighs, “I need time. _We_ need time, to work on this, to mend whatever mess we both made when we up and started this. It’s no instant fix, I assure you, and I’m sure you get that.” 

“Yeah, I do.” And though he’s rational, though he’s _right_ , you can’t help the sinking feeling in your heart. It plummets to your stomach, settling there like a weight you can’t lift or a pressure you can’t alleviate. 

“So let’s ease back into it,” he tells you, his voice but a hoarse rasp, “slow and thoughtful, like it should’ve been. Let it happen naturally, and we can talk more from here about where we want this to go, and if you want anything or anyone else.” 

“Okay,” you nod. “We can do that.” 

This time, you both hug each other back. It’s slow, and thoughtful, and right.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the first time I posted this I actually got quite a bit of backlash over it. And I really wasn't expecting it. But I think it's important in a work of fiction to hold everyone accountable, even the protagonist, and keep in mind that especially when we have these biased POV's, we can't make assumptions about what our unreliable narrator sees/believes. I promise I wasn't throwing in unnecessary drama, or just doing this for the hell of it. It has a purpose and I planned for this arc early on, and I won't apologize for it. Thank you for reading. <3


	22. The Bookworm and the Tsundere

  


G shuts the door behind him when he leaves. A certain type of silence settles in your room and makes itself comfortable now that you’re alone. Heaving a sigh, you fall back onto the couch and prop your legs on one of its arms. The canvas cushions are cool against your neck. You could almost fall back asleep, if it weren’t for the thoughts swimming in your mind.

You and G decided to start over, and do it right this time, hopefully. The lanky skeleton never pinned all of the blame on you - he wouldn’t do that, of course - but you took all of it upon yourself anyway. After all, he didn’t even _do_ anything to hurt you. You’re the one who jumped to conclusions, acted out of spite, and then accused him of something that wasn’t even true. 

All that, to your sort-of-boyfriend. You had a good thing going, too. Your heart flutters at the mere memory of his kisses, and the way his eyes glinted when he looked at you. His eyes…

He looked so _hurt_ during your confrontation. You kind of feel like shit about it.

Okay, you _really_ feel like shit about it. 

How in the world are you going to make it up to him? You weigh it out in your head for a while. Of course, the obvious answer is to just be clear and communicate in your new relationship together. That isn’t making it up to him, though, you rationalize, that’s just being a decent person. You need to do something especially nice for him, something that lets him know that you really do care for him like he does for you.

Oh. Here’s an idea. It comes after over thirty minutes of deep thinking.

With a sudden moment of clarity, you grab your phone from your desk. 

You see that you have a new text from Red, but you can read it later. It’s probably just a “you’re welcome” from earlier, or even an innuendo. He’s trying to be better, you’ll give him that, but maybe it’s just in his nature to be perverse. 

Going to your contacts, you find the person you need and tap the little telephone icon. The dull ringing tone finds your ears as you lean back on one of your bedposts. Your head just barely reaches the top, bonking lightly against the wood. 

The voice on the other end sounds startled. “Oh, ah, hello?” 

“Hey, Green,” you greet, “do you have time to talk?” 

The tall skeleton’s voice sounds more enthusiastic after you speak. “Of course, _____! I’m always here for you, and frankly, I’m a bit excited you called. What’s going on?” 

“I have a question,” you reply. 

“Is it about the poetry assignment Dr. Flowers gave us last Wednesday? I’ve already finished mine, if you’d like any help.” 

You glance over at your computer. Oh shit, you haven’t even started that yet. When’s it due, Monday? Yeah, Monday, you think. Eh, you’ve got a day and a half. That’s practically two days. You have plenty of time.

“No, uh, it’s not about that.” You pause, taking in a deep breath. “It’s about your brother.” 

“Oh,” Green says, finality in his tone, and that one word carries so much more than what’s on its surface.

You click your tongue. “Yeah. Uh, you heard about all that?” 

“Indeed. G filled me in on everything a short minute ago, and he left the room just before you called. We’re brothers, and communication has always been important to him.” 

Okay, ouch. Even if Green didn’t mean for that last bit to sting, it does. You can’t help but suck in through your teeth as you wince.

As if sensing your expression (or the sharpness in his voice), he softens. “Oh, goodness! I’m not angry at you, _____, not by any means! Please don’t worry about that. I understand how hard it is to manage new relationships. The circumstances _were_ complicated.” 

“Mhm,” you nod. “But we’re trying to start over, and work everything out. Especially since, um, I don’t know if he mentioned this, but since he’s cool with me possibly dating other people too? Like at the same time?” 

“He _did_ mention that. And that’s perfectly reasonable. After all, you’re very likable.” 

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you stammer. Oh no, you’re blushing. You called to get advice about his brother and he’s making you _blush_. Are you getting a crush on this skeleton too? Shit, you shouldn’t be thinking about this. You try to direct the conversation back to where you want it.

“But anyway, he didn’t pin everything on me, but I think he should’ve. I feel really bad about it all. That’s why I’m calling. I want to make it up to him, y’know, like do something extra nice?” 

“That’s sweet of you. Very considerate,” he remarks. “What direction were you thinking of taking?” 

“I’m not sure. That’s why I was asking you.” 

Is it getting chilly in here? You’re shivering, and there’s tiny bumps across your arms. Phone in one hand, you walk across the room to the thermostat. You eye the shown temperature incredulously. Yeah, that’s too cold, especially considering the weather. Your free hand moves to turn the temperature up. 

“G is a bit strange when it comes to gifts and favors. He doesn’t care for material things very much. Rather, he appreciates gestures and personal efforts than simply buying something.” 

“Oh.”

After a beat, Green adds, “Though he _does_ have a soft spot for peanut butter cups.” 

Non-material gestures and peanut butter cups. That’s what you’ve got to work with. 

“It’s a start,” you say, “This is gonna take some thinking, that’s for sure.”

“That’s the idea,” the tall skeleton replies. “If you’re still thinking by the time we get finished with Creative Writing on Monday, then we could always brainstorm together at the library’s coffee shop? Of course, I’m not forcing you, or even making an insinuation, I just thought-“

“Sure, I’d love to go,” you say, cutting him off. “I could use the help. Besides, even if I figure it out before then, we haven’t spent much time together anyway.”

“O-oh,” he stammers, “I suppose you’re right about that. Well, then, ah, I look forward to it.”

“Me too. Thanks so much, Green."

You say your goodbyes, and hang up. Green sounded so nervous about even asking you to grab coffee with him. It’s not even a date, but you could hear him stammering as he asked you. Well, he’s always timid, even in class. That’s probably the reason. Hopefully he’ll get used to talking with you after a while. 

For now, though, you’re happy to have someone helping you rebuild your relationship with G, and you couldn’t have anyone more educated on the matter. With that problem taken care of for now, you think you can relax, at least for a minute.

Oh, that’s right. Red texted you before you called Green. With a few taps, you’re looking at your message log. It crosses your mind that somewhere up through your conversation history is the nude he sent. For a moment, you’re tempted to look at it, but then you realize you’d only get derailed even more. You haven’t even _read_ the text he sent you. Oh, there it is. There’s two, now, actually. He must’ve sent another one while you were talking. 

_Red: appreciate the thanks doll, but it ain’t me you should be thanking_

_Red: my bro deserves the credit for that_

Your eyes widen at the last message. You actually read it over again, slower this time, just to be sure you’re understanding it right.

_Edge_ took you home last night? You wouldn’t have imagined he’d have given you so much as a second thought during the party. He hit it off with the Theta Chi brothers awfully well. How did he even break away from them? 

Nevertheless, you guess you should thank him now. 

You’d send a text, but you still don’t have his number. Is he in his and Red’s room? You want to assume so, considering he took you home. He doesn’t strike you as the type to go out of his way to help someone, _especially_ you. You don’t think he even likes you at all. _Why the hell did he take you home last night?_

Before you head down to room 229, though, you stop by the vending machine. You’re jonesing for a candy bar amidst your hangover, and you suppose you could get something small for Edge, too. Just something to thank him for the gesture, and placate him a bit. He wouldn’t slam the door in your face if you got him something, would he? Hopefully not. 

You get what you want, and then guess on a plain dark chocolate bar for him. _The edgiest of candies._

On the walk back down the hallway, you eat your snack. The wrapper misses the trash can, so it takes you a minute to go back and pick it up. _This is why you don’t play basketball._ Now, only Edge’s chocolate is in your hands. You hold it loosely so it won’t melt before you can even get it to him. 

A sudden spike of anxiety shoots through your stomach as you knock on his door. What are you going to say when he answers? What if he doesn’t answer? What if Red answers instead? You didn’t think to get _him_ anything, now, did you? He comforted you last night for who knows how long, and he doesn’t get anything. What kind of friend are you? Wait, does he even think you’re his friend, or-

Your thoughts are cut off by the door swinging open. Edge stands in the threshold, one hand on a cocked hipbone, already screaming.

“WHAT THE- OH.” He cuts himself off when he realizes that it’s you standing there. His razor-sharp maw shuts, and with a neutral face he studies you for a moment. His pupils are little crimson pinpricks, scrutinizing you for some unknown reason. 

“Hi,” you squeak.

When Edge speaks this time, he does it slowly. “HOW… ARE YOU FEELING?” The words seem unnatural, coming off of his tongue. It’s like he’s never asked anyone that in his entire life. You wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t. 

“I’ve been better, but I’ve also been worse,” you reply, and then add a hesitant, “What about you?”

“I’M PERFECTLY FINE. I KEPT SANE AND _DIDN’T_ GET INEBRIATED OUT OF MY MIND LAST NIGHT,” he replies, and you hear what’s unspoken. _Unlike you,_ he’s implied. 

“That’s good. Um,” you say, and then pause. You’ve never talked to him one-on-one like this, away from everyone else. It makes you nervous, the way he seems to be watching your every move. He doesn’t even seem as aggressive as he typically is. That worries you even more. Nevertheless, you continue, blurting out what you’ve been working up the nerve to say.

“Thank you for taking me home last night.” Your left hand is shaking as you move it up to offer the candy bar. “I know this isn’t much, but… I really appreciate what you did.”

He takes the chocolate wordlessly, with the sharp ends of his phalanges crinkling the wrapper. You watch his eyes move across the label. For a moment he stands there, simply regarding the candy and reading its packaging. 

Then he says, “THANK YOU. I’LL ENJOY THIS.” His chiseled skull dips in appreciation. Why is he so passive? You honestly kind of expected him to be an ungrateful dick about it. You don’t know whether you’re unnerved or pleasantly surprised. It’s a mixture of both, most likely. 

You don’t know what else to say. The only things going through your head are questions. You want to know why he’s not cursing up a storm, why he hasn’t lectured you or slammed his door in your face. On top of that, he actually _thanked you_. He’s not quite kind today, but compared to his typical atrocious behavior, this is near-angelic. 

The points of his red shoes tap against his kitchen tile. You look up at his face again.

“WELL?” He coughs out. “DO YOU NEED ANYTHING ELSE?” 

Prompted, all you know to do is spit out what’s on your mind.

“Why are you being nice to me?!”

And it’s out there. For a moment, there's silence. You think you see a rosy color dust over Edge’s face. Just as quickly as you notice it, though, it’s gone. 

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?! I’M NOT TREATING YOU ANY DIFFERENT!” He defends, hands on hips. Oh, you didn’t miss that inflection in his tone. He _is_ sounding louder, though, and rougher as well.

“Yes you are,” you retort, “First of all, you haven’t cursed once since I knocked, and you haven’t insulted me, either, and then you actually _thanked_ me when I gave you something! But to top it all off, you were enjoying the party last night but for some fucking reason you _left early_ to take my drunk ass back here!” 

He scoffs, “I TOOK YOU HOME BECAUSE YOU WERE PASSED OUT AND MY IDIOT BROTHER WAS TOO DRUNK TO WALK PROPERLY, MUCH LESS LOOK AFTER YOU!” Now _this_ sounds like the asshole skeleton you know. He’s back at his normal tone now, and you feel like a curse word is imminent. 

“I’M NO MORON; I KNOW WHAT HAPPENS TO YOUNG GIRLS AT PARTIES! YOU WERE THREE SHEETS TO THE WIND LAST NIGHT! WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO, LET SOMETHING FUCKING HAPPEN TO YOU?! IF YOU GOT HURT I’D-” 

Edge cuts himself off mid-sentence and you both freeze. 

He doesn’t look at you as he steps back, further into his dorm room. Though he’s avoiding eye contact, the redness across his skull is unmistakable now. You move to ask him what he meant, but before you can take a step he shuts the door. You’re left dumbfounded outside his and Red’s room.

For a moment there, it almost sounded like he cared about you.

  



	23. Wine and Dine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter title: Molly's Horny On Main for Gaster (Again)

  


“…and then he slammed the door in my face, and I didn’t know what to do, so I just walked back to the room. And uh, that’s that. Nothing since yesterday.” 

When you finish talking, you take a deep breath and look up at your roommate. It’s always hard to meet her deep brown eyes. They’re darker than Winnie’s, almost black even in the bright lighting of your dorm room.

Jade’s slack-jawed on her bed. She sits there for a moment, frozen in silence that unsettles you. Her eyes flick over to the bird-shaped clock on the right wall. It’s one of many bird-themed things she has on her side of the room. If she was allowed to bring her pet parrot into the dorm room, you know she would. Once you had the idea of her registering the little guy as an emotional support bird, but she never followed through with it. 

When she finally speaks up, she does it slowly.

“So… that’s all the skeleton antics?” 

“Yeah, you’re all caught up,” you reply. 

You’d decided while hungover yesterday that you should tell your roommate about all the drama once she got back from hanging out with her bandmates. You’re friends and she deserved to know. However, her hangout turned into another sleepover last night, and now that today is Sunday, she’s been back at the dorm for a little more than an hour now. She asked about your weekend, and you spilled it. All of it, everything, only omitting any mention of Wings. 

Despite the fact that you’ve spent two nights with him, on top of kissing him, some strange, lingering thought in your mind is telling you not to bring him up. You listen to that. 

So when Jade arches a suggestive eyebrow and asks, “Are you sure? Nothing else you’re hiding?” you nod.

“Yeah, I’m sure. That’s it."

“Okay.” She heaves a sigh, pressing her fingers to her temples. “And you’re trying to work this… thing… out with G, right? Like you started over?”

“Yeah, exactly,” you reply. 

“That’s a start.” She shakes her head, and adds, “I’m not gonna lie, _____, this sounds really messy. Like it-could-get-messier messy.” 

“You think any drama’s a mess, though.”

“True. To each their own, I guess. Just be careful with all these monsters.” With a shrug, Jade turns to her computer. She turns it on, probably to play that little farming game she loves so much.

You’re almost amazed by how she manages to stay out of drama. You’d think that being in a band comes with its ups and downs, but surprisingly, hers hasn’t had any scuffles yet. Somehow, though, you know that when they do, she’ll be able to detach herself from it. 

You open your mouth to ask her about her virtual chickens (one of which you’d helped to affectionately name “Hen Solo”) when your phone goes off.

“I was wondering when you’d have another Skeleton Incident,” your roommate remarks without looking up. 

“For your information, this might be my mom.” 

“It’s not, though, is it?” Her wide, slender lips twitch into a knowing smirk.

You glance down at the caller ID. _Gaster_. You can’t help the fluttering in your stomach as you answer.

“Hello?” 

“Good afternoon, _____. How are you?” His voice reverberates over the speaker of your phone, sending a shiver up your spine. You’ve forgotten how deep it was.

“I’m fine. Um, I’m glad you, Sans, and Papyrus are back,” you answer, trying to regain your composure.

“As am I."

Meanwhile, though, Jade’s jerked her head up at the mention of names. Her voice is quiet, so as to not be picked up by your phone’s mic. 

“Wait. If that’s not Sans or Papyrus, is that the one who almost stripped in front of you?” 

Oh _fuck_. You almost forgot about that. With red slowly overtaking your cheeks, you nod at her, putting a finger to your lips. Hopefully he’s forgotten about it. You hope he has, you _really_ hope he has, you-

“Are you doing anything this evening?” He asks suddenly. “I’d like to see you, if that’s alright. It’s been… several days, hasn’t it?”

You hear that refined sort of smugness in his voice. Fuck. Of course he hasn’t forgotten. 

You could always lie, and say you’re busy. You can say you have homework to do (which wouldn’t be a stretch, considering you _still_ haven’t started that poem yet). You could keep dodging his invitations and avoid him for the rest of your life so he never brings up the fact that you were virtually spying on him last week. 

Or you could cut this running-from-your-problems shit and actually be practical. 

“No, I’m not busy,” you reply after a moment of thinking. “What do you have in mind?” 

Jade fixes you with another chiding look and you roll your eyes at her.

Gaster says, “I’ve been dining out for the past week, so I was hoping that you would let me cook for you tonight. In addition, I still have all the wine we bought together.” 

“That sounds fun,” you say, then ask, “what time?” 

“How does 6:00 sound? I can start cooking when you come over.” 

You glance at the bird clock. It’s 2:30, which would give you... plenty of time. You can’t help the smile that’s growing on your face.

“That’s perfect. I look forward to it.” 

“As do I, dear.”

_Dear_ , that’s so formal. It’s a bit weird, you think, but nevertheless it’s… sweet, almost? A refreshing change of pace to the typical “babe” girls like you get? 

When you hang up, you can’t help but beam. Sure, you haven’t seen him in almost a week and a half, and he’s surely going to bring up the video-chat-incident, but still, you’re excited. _He’s going to cook for you._

“Another hot date?” Jade asks once she sees you put your phone down.

“It’s not a date,” you reply. 

“Really?” She purses her lips. “What are you doing?” 

“Eating dinner at his place. He’s cooking.” 

“Sounds like a date to me,” she singsongs. 

You run a self-conscious hand through your hair. She sounds teasing, but given the conversation you both just had, you know there’s a serious undertone. Jade, always so facetious. No matter how you try to defend yourself, she’s going to make her assumption and keep it. You’re just… not going to reply. 

You do a pretty good job of that for about two minutes. That’s when she pipes up again.

“What do you think G’s gonna have to say about this?” 

Now _that’s_ not something you can ignore, not after your wince gives away the fact that you clearly heard her and have a definite reaction to it.

“Well,” you start, gulping your nervousness down your throat, “he should be fine with it. Even if it’s not a date, _because it’s not_ , I’m still gonna tell him I’m going over to Gaster's, just so he doesn’t think I’m going behind his back or anything.” 

“Hm. Smart,” is all she has to say. Her face is neutral, as it almost always is, so you can’t gauge if she really means that.

Just so you won’t forget, though, you take out your phone and send that quick text now. 

_You: Hey, Gaster invited me to go hang with him for a bit tonight. Is that okay?_

You add the last bit after a second of contemplation. Well, you want to know if he’s really _not_ okay with it, so there. He can be honest with you, even if it’s possibly going to tank your plans. It’s only a few minutes before your phone buzzes.

_G: Of course. You know you don’t have to ask my permission like that, right?_

You can’t help but flush a little when you read the reply. You didn’t really _mean_ to ask permission, but you still just wanted to make sure he was okay with everything. After the confrontation you two had yesterday, you’d really hate to upset him. 

_You: I know. Just wanted you to be comfortable is all._

_G: You can spend time with anyone you want. Seriously. That’s not my place to control. As long as you’re comfortable telling me if things go further, I’m comfortable. *yellow heart emoji*_

Oh. That’s the first heart he’s sent you since before everything went down between the two of you. Aw. It’s a start. 

With a clear conscience and a new surge of confidence, you think about what you’re going to wear tonight. Even if it’s not a date.

“You’re stalling.” 

Gaster looks up from the loveseat to fix his roommate with a glare. Dings is fiddling with the multitude of sweater vests stowed away in his dresser, holding different ones up to his button-up. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dings replies, but the peach-colored blush grazing his cheeks gives him away. Even if it didn’t, though, Gaster still knows better.

“Are you sure you don’t? Because in the ten minutes it’s taken you to contemplate a sweater vest, you’ve been awfully concerned with the time on your watch. As if you didn’t check thirty seconds ago, please, do tell me what time it is _now_.” 

The colorfully-clad skeleton still manages to look surprised when he glances at the time. Moving a bony hand over his mouth, he gasps, “It’s 5:50? Already?” 

Gaster sighs, “You’re too smart to pretend to be stupid, Dings. You know, when you volunteered to leave for tonight I asked you to be gone at least twenty minutes before _____ was supposed to arrive. Now, however, it’s time to go and you’re stalling.” 

It baffles Gaster, how contradictory Dings can be sometimes. He’s expressed that he respects his space, and yet there’s this nonsense.

“Stalling?” Dings asks, voice lilted. “You think I’m… stalling?” 

“I don’t think, I know.” He crosses his arms, the elbow stitches of his jacket straining tightly with the pose.

“Stalling?” His roommate asks again, and Gaster huffs. It was only yesterday that he overcame a rather hellish hangover, and yet here he is, hankering for a stiff drink. Yes, he’s already offered to drink a bit with you, but a little wine is a completely different matter than the liquor-binging he’s capable of. 

But he can’t do that two days in a row, he shouldn’t. It would give way to a dangerous habit. And after all, he has dinner in nine minutes. 

Eight minutes, actually, now. Gaster takes his watch off and shows Dings the time, finality in his tone.

"It’s 5:52. Shoo.” With a wave of his hand, the tall skeleton dismisses the other away.

Dings still seems giddy as he saunters to the door, bag in hand. If Gaster remembers correctly, he said something about enjoying the campus library? That sounds right. His roommate turns to him, beaming like the sun.

“I’ll be back in two and a half hours. If _____ is still here, we can all enjoy quality time together!” He doesn’t even wait for a response. With one last wink, Dings opens the door and (finally) leaves.

It’s hardly three minutes later that there’s a quiet knock at the door. Oh, you’re not simply punctual, but _early_. The professional side of Gaster admires that immensely. He takes note of your timeliness as he opens the door. 

You’re dressed casually, with hardly any makeup on, and you’re wearing simple flats. There’s just this way, though, that your top fits your body, and how your hair’s effortlessly down, that makes you look lovely in some natural, demure way. 

“You look very pretty tonight, _____. Please, come in.” 

Gaster’s missed you. 

You’ve missed him.

Gaster smiles when he invites you in. He’s wearing a relaxed version of his usual getup, just a blazer over a buttoned shirt. You can’t tell if his pants are slacks or simply really dark jeans- either way, they look comfortable. 

“You look very pretty tonight, _____. Please, come in.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” Eloquent, aren’t you? You’re hardly even in the threshold of his room and you’re already blushing. Well, if _this_ isn’t off to a good start.

The room is neat, as it’s been every other time you’ve visited. Soft piano music drifts through a speaker atop the fridge. You’d think that’s an odd place to put a speaker, but then you remember that your companion easily has two feet on you, and that’s probably a comfortable height for him and his roommate.

The tall skeleton takes a wrapped package of white butcher paper out of the refrigerator. You crane your neck a bit to read its label. _1 lbs. white shrimp, peeled_ , the blocky font reads. It’s dated for today.

“How do you feel about shrimp? If you don’t like them, I can leave that and the pasta separate after I’m finished.”

That’s considerate of him. You tell him your preference, and he nods. 

When he takes his gloves off, you can’t help but notice his hands. Like Wings, Dings, Green, and G, there’s perfectly circular holes in the middles of his bony palms. They’re so clean-looking, almost as if they were punched- okay, that’s a painful thought, never mind, don’t think of it like that. For a moment you’re reminded of what it’s like to hold a skeletal hand, and you think of both G and Wings. Mixed feelings cloud your brain, but only long enough for you to realize you should be focusing on Gaster instead. 

He’s unwrapping the shrimp, violet eyes on the little invertebrates as he carefully holds the package. There’s already a saucepan on the stove, and its stove-eye has been turned on. 

“You know, you can go have a seat if you’d like,” Gaster says. “Don’t worry about helping me with cooking. It’s my treat.” 

You eye the purple loveseat through the open doorway. The bedroom’s empty, you notice. Has Dings left the dorm for the evening? You suppose so; after all, he would’ve come to greet you by now. It’s just you and Gaster in the room tonight, then.

“I think I’ll stay here,” you reply.

His malleable skull scrunches where his eyebrows would be. “Are you sure, my dear? There’s nowhere to sit here in the kitchen, and I don’t want you uncomfortable.” As he talks, he cooks, his hands moving as if the conversation isn’t even happening.

“I’m fine, Gaster, seriously,” you tell him. You feel the chill of the granite countertop on the small of your back as you lean against it. “And besides, I wanna talk with you.” 

“Oh, of course, that’s…perfectly fine.” He doesn’t stutter, but his words are unsteady, hesitant, as if he isn’t sure what he’s saying. What _does_ seem steady, though, is the deep purple blush crossing his face. He’s turned away from you, for the most part, but you still notice. 

You brush it off. The monsters seem to blush easily, anyway. It’s probably nothing.

“Tell me about your conference,” you say, tilting your head a bit and grinning. “I talked to Sans and Papyrus a little bit yesterday, but they didn’t give me any details.” 

“It was definitely an endeavor,” he replies. The bitter tone of his voice gives away what he _really_ thought.

You’d’ve thought that Gaster’s first trip to somewhere else on the surface would be exciting, and entertaining. To your understanding, from your chat with Sans and Papyrus, the Monsters at the conference were chauffeured around the capitol and taken to the most upscale places in between meetings. That expression, however, conveys the opposite.

You ask, “That bad? What ruined it?” 

Gaster scoffs, his mouth curving up in an almost-carnal sneer that shows off (oh _shit_ ) pristine fangs. 

" _Politicians_.” 

With that word you remember your video call from last week, when Sans’ explained how they were being treated. 

“I know,” you sigh, “they can get pretty bad."

“ _Pretty bad_? What an understatement.” He takes a very large handful of fettuccine noodles from a dark blue box, just nearly flicking them all into a boiling pot with his aggression. Scalding water splashes up and hits the edges of the stove, but none of it is anywhere close to hitting you. “Try ignorant, uncooperative, uncouth, unprepared, and altogether _rude_.” 

That sneer’s still on his face, punctuating the growl of frustration he ends his sentence with. You can’t stop staring at those fucking teeth. It doesn’t seem fitting for Gaster, someone so dignified to grimace and make noises like a wild animal. Despite how oddly attractive it is, you make a note to never get on his bad side. 

You try to steer the conversation to a happier tone. “Aside from that, though, did you and the rest of the Monster government make any headway?” 

“Yes, actually,” he says, and as he sets the shrimp into the buttered saucepan there’s a satisfactory smile on his face. “The official declaration that monsters may legally get drivers’ licenses will be out to the public tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s great!” 

“There’s also negotiations of an anti-discriminatory law. While I think that will take a bit to pass, I believe that it, inevitably, can be done.” 

“That’s the spirit,” you reply.

“Wine?” Gaster asks, suddenly, and then you notice the bottles on the counter. There’s the red, the white, and the champagne that the two of you bought at the store two weeks ago. He opens the white to pour some into the saucepan with the shrimp, butter, and herbs. It smells amazing. 

“Please,” you say, nudging the champagne bottle in his direction, as he has the bottle opener. You’ve never had champagne so nice it couldn’t just be pulled open.

“Grab two glasses from that cabinet on your right, please, dear.” 

“Yes sir,” you say, almost instinctively, a smile on your face. Standing on the tips of your toes you grab the wine glasses and bring them down. When you turn again, he has your bottle opened. Gaster pours your glass of champagne, and then fills his glass with the white wine. Your drink is refreshing, lightly sweet and bubbling even as it goes down your throat. 

This really is a great start to dinner.

It’s not long before the food is ready, and it’s just as delicious as you imagined. The parsley is fresh, and parmesan cheese is grated directly onto your plate. You end up seated across from Gaster at the round dining table as the two of you eat. There’s a candle between the two of you dripping white wax. 

“It’s just _so good_ ,” you groan for the fifth time, struggling not to be turned on by food. He’s an exceptional chef, you’ll give him that. The wine sauce is just amazing. 

He chuckles, “I’m glad I could make you happy, even if it’s over something so small as dinner.” 

“Small?” You almost snort, but reign your manners in. “I seriously appreciate all this. No one’s cooked me dinner since…” you trail off, suddenly remembering that Wings cooked for you two days ago but not wanting to give it away. You have a feeling that Gaster would like that least of all the skeletons. So you giggle, and pick back up with, “Well, I can’t even remember the last time someone made me something this nice! Seriously, Gaster, thank you.” 

The typically-harsh lights in his sockets blur and soften around the edges, tinged with violet and lavender. There’s something about that look, and the soft smile on his face that’s almost… sweet? Endearing? 

Romantic?

Was Jade right?

You swallow a noodle and realize that this is most certainly a date. 

It’s not a repulsive thought, actually. Gaster’s been nothing but an absolute gentleman this entire time. He’s made good conversation, too. Asked you about yourself, told you stories about himself. The video-chat incident you were so worried about hasn’t even come up! You don’t feel uncomfortable, even, not in the slightest. Awkward? The only awkward thing is the fact that you’ve just now grasped the fact that it’s been a date this whole time.

The candle flickers warmly. This is nice.

Soon enough, the food is gone, leaving empty plates and more wine to be had. The two of you drink at the same pace, which surprises you. For all you’ve heard about his drinking habits, you’d assume wine would be water to his tongue. It’s inky purple, by the way, his tongue is. You’ve noticed it a couple of times throughout your meal, slender and long-looking.

“Is there something in my teeth, my dear?” Gaster's deep voice yanks you from your thoughts, and you flush. His smile is knowing.

Fuck, he caught you staring at his mouth. You dumbass, why couldn’t you be subtle?

“N-no,” you cough, “sorry. Just lost in thought.”

He laughs, and your face grows pinker. _Busted_. You down the remainder of your champagne glass and quickly take the bottle from the center of the table to pour more, which only makes him laugh louder. If his voice was deep, then his laugh is fathomless, sounding rich and sophisticated all the while. 

Gaster checks his watch, then looks back at you. “Would you rather move to the couch now? If you’d like, we can find something to watch.” 

“Sure,” you reply. As you get up, though, a thought crosses your mind: What if he doesn’t plan to watch TV at all? You saw his reaction to your stare. 

Is this tall skeleton about to Netflix-and-chill you?

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He wouldn’t. He’s too chivalrous to try that, at least not on the first date. You think you can trust him. With a renewed sense of confidence, you follow Gaster to the loveseat. It’s just big enough for the two of you to comfortably fit on it without touching. However, he doesn’t sit down with you just yet.

“I hope you don’t mind if I make myself more comfortable.” He says, then takes his black jacket off. The blazer is folded once and hung over the arm of the loveseat. His button-up is a crisp white, fitted to his broad shoulders. You try not to ogle him for too long, though. You don’t want a repeat of a few minutes ago, do you? 

Instead, you stay silent and act like you weren’t admiring him. It’s easy to simply sip your champagne and stare into space. You don’t even make eye contact when he lowers to sit next to you and your thighs brush. Though you know you don’t have to be touching, just a little bit is nice. It’s just enough to barely register with you, fabric grazing fabric. 

Besides, he hasn’t moved away, either.

The two of you decide on an older vampire movie that’s already fifteen minutes in; it’s easily twenty years old, and Gaster claims to have read the book. You figure that he might as well see the movie, then, if he liked reading it that much.

“Y’know,” you say in between sips of champagne, “I’m pretty sure the author’s, like, super crazy about copyright stuff. She banned everyone from even writing fan-fiction of her works.” 

He sighs, “But there’s so much left to be imagined.”

“Sucks,” you snort, leaning against the purple fabric.

There’s a small amused smile on his face, and he says, “Yes, _____, I truly think it does suck.”

You soon realize that you forgot there was a graphic sex scene in this movie. 

It’s uncensored, thanks to the network it’s playing on, and you try to fight the inevitable redness creeping its way onto your face. It’s not that you’re uncomfortable, it’s that you really don’t know what to do here. You could stare at the porn, you could look at Gaster, or you could look away pointedly. None sound like decent ideas. 

You catch the skeleton’s expression out of the corner of your eye. He seems… bored, almost, looking at the scene. A few minutes ago, he was enthralled, but now it’s as if he couldn’t care less about the movie. 

You get an idea.

“Can I get you more wine?” You offer, springing up suddenly. “I’m going to pour more for myself, so while I’m up I could…”

“Yes, that’d be lovely,” he replies. He hands you his glass, and distraction had, you walk into the kitchen.

His next glass empties the bottle of white wine, and you finish off the champagne. Perhaps you’ll save the red for another time. _Another time_ , you think, _like a second date_. Would he even want a second date? You hope so, considering you’ve been enjoying yourself up until coming into contact with vampire titties. 

You turn to look at Gaster and catch him looking right back from his spot on the loveseat. 

“This is the last of the white,” you tell him. Flesh brushes bone when he takes his glass back. You were expecting him to have put his gloves back on by now, considering he seems to always wear them, but his hands are still bare. You like it, you think as you turn to take your seat again. It makes him look more vulnerable, in some weird way.

You’re so caught up in your thoughts that you barely even register his leg under your ass until you’ve fully sat down. Did you even move away from him when you turned to sit? It looks like you didn’t. 

Shit, you’re still in his fucking lap. Fuck.

He’s frozen underneath you, breath caught, and you are too for a moment before you realize you need to get off of him.

When you move next you stumble, so embarrassed that you twist and fall back. Before you can spill out and drop your champagne, though, Gaster moves to wrap an arm around your waist, catching you. Your unoccupied hand acts as well, reaching to grab his shoulder. You can feel your grip tightening on his shirt, and you’re still halfway in his lap, and he’s holding you so firmly, and his eyes are carrying that endearing intensity you saw earlier. 

They’re piercing. He pulls you up, closer. Closer. 

The door clicks open. 

Hurried, yet calculated footsteps make their way through the room, until Dings’ silhouette is in the doorway. 

“Oh, hello, _____! I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” The skeleton asks, tone jovial.

When you look back to Gaster, whatever warmth was in his eyes moments ago is nowhere to be found. In a smooth motion, he pivots you around to sit you on the loveseat normally. He clears his throat, expression unreadable. The weight in his voice, however, is unmistakable.

“Nothing at all.”

  



	24. Skeleton Poet Society

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song in this chapter is "House of Cards" by Radiohead!!

  


After Dings interrupts your date, you end up wedged onto the loveseat between him and Gaster. You have no idea how the three of you manage to even fit, honestly. They’re two rather large monsters, you’re… well, you, and the seat’s only so big. 

When the three of you manage to adjust yourselves best you can, your hips and thighs touch. They have no choice but to drape their arms over you. Dings’ touches your shoulders, while Gaster’s lands on the back of the couch, right above your head. The former skeleton seems utterly ecstatic, while the latter looks almost disgruntled. 

“How was your evening?” Dings asks, grinning all the while.

Gaster snorts, “Short.” 

“It was nice,” you say. Your legs swing back in forth, hitting the loveseat. Things really were nice. You honestly weren’t expecting it to be so… relaxed. Gaster always seems so fancy, and you never really imagined you’d end up _watching a movie on the couch_. 

The vampire film’s still on, reduced to a lull in the background while the three of you talk idly. Well, it’s mostly Dings and you doing the talking. Gaster seems… rather sour. Is he that irritated over being interrupted? 

At any given time, one of you is squirming to get comfortable. Despite the fact that they’re made of bone, they’re not as pokey as you imagined. It’s not like you’re new to the concept of touching them; after all, Blue’s laid on you and you’ve all but straddled G’s lap to kiss him. Here, you’re pressed between two of the larger skeletons, and it’s actually somewhat pleasant.

Dings mentions being in the library and you say, “I’m sure that was exciting. Libraries on Sunday nights can get pretty wild.”

The amused grin on his face lets you know he caught the sarcasm. “Oh, it was _absolutely riveting_. At one point, someone coughed. Utter anarchy.”

You laugh a little. “Typically all the fun, exciting stuff happens at the student center. There’s always something going on. Club events, food, contests, karaoke…”

“Karaoke?” Dings’ skull is tilted to the side, the lights in his sockets wide with both confusion and curiosity. It’s cute, especially with his differently-colored eyes.

“Yeah,” you explain, “it’s where you get on stage and pick a song to sing, and the words to the song are on a screen for you to read along to!” 

“Oh! That _does_ sound exciting! Do you know when they do that?”

“Every Friday, I think. It’s always huge, and there’s typically food and drinks.” 

Dings is quiet for a moment, looking away as he contemplates something you’re unsure of. He’s jittering, with one leg bouncing and his phalanges tapping on the arm of the loveseat.

Then he looks at you and asks, “Would you like to go do that? This Friday, maybe?” 

_Oh. He wants to go. You’re not much of a singer yourself, but…_

You have an idea, suddenly.

“Sure!” You reply. “Maybe we could make it a group thing and invite the others! I’m sure they’d love it!” 

If the whole group is going, then perhaps you’ll feel less pressured to actually get up and sing. It’s a logical enough idea, even if it means dealing with ten rambunctious monsters (who are all at least somewhat attractive). They won’t be too bad, you suppose. After all, it’ll be in public. It’ll be fun, with all of them. 

You feel like you’re trying too hard to convince yourself. Dings takes your offer, though.

“Oh! Ah… sure! That’d be nice.” He exclaims. “It’s a date, then! All of us, together. I’ll make sure everyone can come! It sounds so fun, doesn’t it, Gaster?”

From the other end of the loveseat, Gaster groans.

Monday is a new day. It’s the start of a new week, the start of a better you, a you who is kinder to everyone, who communicates better.

You’re thinking about how much better you’re going to be when you realize you still haven’t written that fucking poem. 

Class starts in… two hours. Fuck. You have to do this now. There’s no procrastinating, no skipping class, and you can’t just tell Dr. Flowers that you forgot it at home. 

The prompt isn't even that hard. You need a four-stanza poem that discusses a personal issue or event. It’s so simplistic, you could probably write it in thirty minutes. Why did you procrastinate this again?

You remember why when you take out a blank sheet of loose-leaf and, well, blank. It’s almost daunting, the white space. You stare at it for two minutes, then five. It’s about to be ten when you realize you really, really need to get this done. 

It’s a painful process, writing when you don’t have the drive. Any line you think of comes out forced, trite, not-quite-right. You find yourself repeating the same concepts over and over. The pencil has to be driven into the paper like a pacifist bulldozer. You find yourself repeating the same concepts over and over. 

Nevertheless, you cough up the four stanzas, spit them onto the page in graphite scribbles, type it up, print copies for the class, and call it a day in about forty-five minutes. 

You have just enough time to eat a leisurely breakfast before heading to class. The cafeteria’s eggs are cooked with margarine instead of butter, but when layered with enough salt and pepper they’re pretty great. Coffee, bacon, a muffin (or two), more coffee, and you’re out the door. 

You’re almost surprised you haven’t seen or heard from any skeletons this morning. Well, it _is_ Monday morning. You wouldn’t be up at this time if you didn’t have to be. And after all, you can’t expect them to constantly be at your beck and call. That’s ridiculous. It’s not like you’re their only interest or anything. 

As you climb the stairs to Dr. Flowers’ classroom, you wonder how Green’s poem turned out. You two talked about him reading it to you first, but never got around to it. To say the weekend has been a whirlwind would be an understatement. You went to a party, thought your sort-of-boyfriend was cheating on you, kissed a dark, suave, and mysterious suitor later that night, reunited with your friends that were on a political vacation, sort-of made up with the sort-of-boyfriend, got a door slammed in your face, and then you went on yet _another_ date, and made plans for a mass-date later this week.

Wild. 

The tall, sweater-clad skeleton is already in his seat. Is he… shaking? You walk closer and clarify that yes, Green is indeed quivering a little. His arms are crossed around his torso, hole-palmed hands gripping his thin body in what you think is a gesture of security. 

“Green, you okay?” You murmur while you take your seat. Reaching out, you dare to touch the soft fabric of his shirt. He’s wearing olive today, and the dark, earthy hue looks lovely against his bones. 

“Anxious,” he rasps. “But it’s fine. I’m fine.” He’s got his stack of papers in front of him on the table. A black binder clip secures them all at an evenly-arranged edge. You try to sneak a peek at what he’s written, but before you can ascertain anything, the front door opens and Dr. Flowers strides in. 

The old man caws, “Poems! Y’all got ‘em?” 

And thus begins the rotation. The professor let you all know beforehand how this would work. Everyone would get a copy of everyone’s poem, and you would take turns presenting and critiquing. All the papers are distributed, and before you know it, you have a decently-sized pile of poetry in front of you, messy from the take-and-pass frenzy. You have the urge to flip to Green’s poem and read it first, but hold back. 

Dr. Flowers leans against the podium. “Alright. We won’t get done with all of them today, but we’ll try to get through some. I’m taking volunteers first.”

Cue the crickets and discreet glances around the room. A dark-haired boy in the row ahead of you coughs. In the corner of your eye, Green somehow manages to shrink into his chair even more. You don’t want to go first either.

There’s a second too long of this prolonged silence, and your professor says, “I guess I’ll start pickin’ people, then.”

It’s almost slow-motion, the way his silvery eyes find and fixate on Green. 

“How about you, sir? You worked your ass off to get in here. Why don’t you show us what you’ve got?” 

The table you share with him begins to shake with the strength of his anxiety. He’s a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, wide-eyed and stock-still. Emerald starts to overtake the white of his body, spreading from his cheekbones to his nasal ridge with astonishing verdancy. 

“Um,” he stammers, barely audible. “Y-you want me to…” He’s choked up, the poor thing. A sound that can only be compared to a broken squeaky toy comes out of his mouth, and you know you have to step up.

“Actually,” you pipe up, standing to get Dr. Flowers’ attention, “I’ll go before him.”

“Oh, so _now_ we have a volunteer,” Dr. Flowers says. The look he’s giving you is… peculiar. “Alright, I’ll take it. You’re next, though, Green.” 

“Y-yes sir,” Green stammers. He keeps his widened sockets on you, though, as you find your way to the front of the room. You try to give him a smile while you clutch your half-assed poem in your sweating hands. There’ll probably be a stain on the paper, you fret, finger-tip shaped dark spots where you’ve clutched. 

“When you’re ready, _____.” 

You aren’t even prepared. This poem was written in forty minutes You hate presenting. Yet you know who hates it more. Green is… a sweetheart, for lack of a more elaborate explanation. If the gets him off the chopping block, if it buys him time and confidence, then you’re ready. 

Paper on podium, eyes between the crisp white edge and your audience, you start reading.

“The mountain opened up  
And so did the world.  
How do you fathom  
Cities of people under your feet?

The mountain opened up  
And so did my school.  
Residencies, human kindness  
Amidst a scary new racism.

The mountain opened up  
And so did my friends.  
A skeleton doing a keg stand,  
A commonplace sight.

The mountain opened up  
And so did my mind.  
There’s a monster on my bed  
And I asked him to sit there."

You’re met with silence as you finish. Behind the podium, your legs and hands shake. It’s a bit unsettling, being faced with about twenty-five stares after displaying your work. Was it too plain? Too boring? You wonder if anyone else wrote about the monsters coming to the surface. Well, he _did_ say you could write about any issue or event, as long as it’s personal to _you_...

Dr. Flowers says, “Go on and take your seat, _____. We’ve got a little bit to unpack here.” 

So you do, returning to your chair next to Green. The tall skeleton fixes you with another smile, but this one seems warmer than the other ones you’ve gotten from him. 

“How was it?” You whisper. “Did it suck?”

“Not at all.” After a moment, he leans back to add, “Obviously, everyone can improve, but I liked listening to it. I thought it was cute. Positively lovely.” 

That’s… just what you need to hear. You feel warm enough to space out as the professor talks about your poem. It’s not as if you aren’t listening; you catch bits and pieces about abstractions and imagery that you could improve on. Yeah, you can see that. You just have to fix a few things. Green liked it, though, and that makes you happy…

You perk up when you hear the shuffling of papers and Dr. Flowers’ voice. 

“Alright, Green. You’re up. No more delay.”

“O-oh, um, yes sir.” Green’s still quivering as he stands and grabs his paper, but he seems to be doing somewhat better than he was a moment ago. Hopefully, you helped him with his confidence a little.

“You’re gonna do great,” you whisper to your friend. As he passes by, you brush a comforting hand against his sweater-clad back. He jumps a bit, but when you meet his curious glance back with a smile, he relaxes. 

When he reaches the podium, Green looks like he’s taking a minute to himself. The poem goes flat onto the flat top, and he drums his phalanges against the sides of the wood. He picks his scarred skull up and looks out over the class with big, round, soft-toned sockets. 

“Hello,” he squeaks out, but then he increases his volume like he should. “Ah, um, here is my poem. I hope you enjoy.”

You hold your breath. His voice is shaky, but he manages to keep the cadence and rhythm up fairly well.

“I’m the quiet one.  
A breeze can overpower me.  
Drywall is grass  
And I’m a rooted violet,  
Shrinking smaller but  
Still lanky as ever.

I’m the quiet one  
And I blend like watercolor  
On a stark canvas  
As white as my bones  
Into the periphery  
I’ve grown used to.

I’m the quiet one,  
A silver coin at the  
Bottom of a purse,  
Tossed haphazardly,  
Crying for attention  
With muted clinks.

I’m the quiet one,  
And with clarity  
Thicker than mud  
I understand my tug-of-war  
Between being safe  
And being heard.”

After he’s finished, you have to look around the room to ensure that you’re not the only one gaping. You can’t close your mouth, not even in the slightest without serious effort. 

From the podium, Green looks around the room, searching for something with that intelligently curious gaze. You meet his eyes, and when they lock he seems to settle into a smile. The bony hands that once gripped the podium like a vice are looser, and his posture’s eased.

After the prolonged silence, Dr. Flowers is the first to speak. “Such a strong start, Green. Let’s go over it.” 

The revisions are minimal. He needs a title, and a few lines need more elaboration, but that’s all your professor wants to fix. The tall skeleton ends up blushing emerald for the rest of class, he’s so happy. It’s an infectious sort of happiness: though you do compare Green’s poem to yours, you don’t feel bad about yourself. 

You don’t give feedback on any of the other poems. You can’t even speak until you get out of the class. Your skeleton friend gets the door for you, and when the crisp, wintry air finds your body you find your voice again.

“Holy shit, Green,” you gasp. “What was that in there?” 

He shrugs, shuffling his feet against the concrete of the building stairs. “It was just something I thought of…”

“Just something you thought of?” You laugh in the cold, chest warming with how you shake. “How long did that take?” 

“It was very rushed,” he breathes out. “I admit, I’m a bit of a procrastinator.” 

Rushed? Oh, if he only knew how rushed you were. Contrastingly, you two seem to take your time walking to the coffee shop. It’s a little ways away, across a street or two. Sure, it’s a chain, and not as good compared to the little indie cafés Jade finds, but it’ll do.

“It was way better than mine,” you snort. It’s not a bitter statement, but it’s something you’ve thought about.

Apparently, though, Green’s not having it. He grips onto your hand, tugging you to look at him. “Don’t say that, _____. It’s nearly impossible to compare poetry because everyone’s style is different! Your poem had a clean, simplistic style, and the repetition was clever. I enjoyed it, and other people did, too, so…” 

He stops for a minute, looks like he’s mustering up something, and then looks you square in the eyes and exclaims, “So hush!” 

That’s the most riled up you’ve ever seen him. He's so full of enthusiasm, a somewhat-daring grin on his skull. It’s endearing to see, so you return the grin. 

“Okay, okay, you’re right. I’m hushing."

Maybe you shouldn’t compare your work to others’ so much.

Green holds the door to the coffee shop open for you, and you’re grateful for the gust of warmth that envelops your body when you walk in. Your companion unravels his grey wool scarf from his neck, opting to let it hang. He looks so much more comfortable in here, and in some odd way he seems to fit. He even bobs his head along to the soft music coming from the speakers.

_”I don’t wanna be your friend_

_I just wanna be your lover_

_No matter how it ends_

_No matter how it starts…”_

The coffee shop’s crowded. Green volunteers to wait in line for the both of you so you can scout out a table to put your stuff at. Just in case, you give him your order before walking off. The pickings are slim, too slim for your liking. It’s still morning, and there’s so many people in here, taking up space, oxygen, and chairs. 

You think you see a tiny little table in the corner, but when you move closer to snag it, you notice a little black purse draped over one of the chairs. _Fuck._ Did someone leave it? Or are they in line? Or-

“Oh, excuse me!” A feminine voice says from behind you. “Were you already sitting here? I can move if you want!” 

The girl who owns the purse walks around you, and that’s when you get a look at her. Her long black hair sways like a swath of unfolded silk, and her smile is sugar-sweet.

Lana’s neutral expression turns into a beam. “Oh, you’re _____, right? G’s girlfriend? You can sit with me if you want!”

  



	25. Girls and Monsters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (please someone tell me they got the dumb ldr reference i made in the title)

  


Girlfriend?

Did you just hear her right? 

Lana thinks you’re G’s

 _girlfriend_?

You’re so floored that you don’t even feel yourself sinking into the minimalistic hipster chair until you’re completely sat down. The metal is but a cold pressure through the denim of your jeans. Your hands are flat on the table, fingers spread wide across the wood, and briefly you think about that knife game that circulated a few years back. I have all my fingers, the knife goes-

“Oh, thank god. I thought I was being weird,” Lana comments, and when you look up at her relieved (but still brilliantly beaming) smile, you realize that you basically just accepted her invitation to sit. The girl takes the chair across from you, leaving a vacant one on the side that’s not by the window. “I mean, I’m basically a stranger, so thanks for not freaking out!” 

“Yeah, it’s no big deal,” you cough out. “but, uh, I do have a friend in line for the both of us, so he’d be joining us, if that’s okay.” 

“Sure, of course. That’s great! So who’s your...” She turns to look over at the line that’s still unfurling out the door like a new phone charger. “Oh, I think I know which one.” 

Green’s not hard to miss, being both a monster and one of the tallest patrons in line (what is he, 6’6”?) He’s at the register now, fiddling with his scarf as he gives the barista your orders. You’ve never been good at reading mouths, but he looks like he’s stammering, the poor thing. It didn’t even occur to you that he might get anxious over ordering things. Maybe you should’ve done the ordering instead.

“Yep, that’s him,” you tell Lana, “He’s G’s brother, actually.” 

“Aw, he looks adorable. I guess looks do run in the family,” she comments with a pursed grin.

That’s when you take a breath and start to say, “Y’know, um, about G…” but before you can continue, you see Green walking towards you out of the corner of your eye, and quickly add, “uh, never mind.” 

Lana looks perplexed, but not as much as Green does when he reaches you and realizes that there’s another person at the table. He visibly tenses up, bony shoulders straightening and one hand clenching around a little paper receipt. It may be the ridiculous lighting in here, but the lights in his sockets seem to get bigger as well.

Fortunately, before you can stumble over an attempt at introducing these two, Lana stands up and holds a glitter-polished hand out to Green. “I’m Lana. _____ and I met at the Theta Chi party on Friday. It’s nice to meet you!” 

In response, Green squeaks.

He _does_ reciprocate, but it takes him a deer-in-headlights moment to meet her hand and shake it. He introduces himself quietly, and they both sit back at the table to wait on your coffee. You’re not sure how long Lana’s been waiting on hers, but you have a feeling it will take a while, considering all the people in the cafe. 

“_____ tells me you’re G’s brother,” Lana says, glancing at the time on her phone. It looks like her lock screen photo is of her and about five other girls. You recognize maybe one of them. “I met him at the party, too.”

The tall skeleton quirks his head to the side. “Did you now?” There’s something in his tone you can’t discern. Curiosity?

“Mhmmm,” Lana hums. “Y’know, I’ve got to admit, he’s awfully sweet. He even helped me out when I got sick!”

“That sounds like him,” Green remarks, but he cuts you a discreet look. 

When you find his face, there’s the tiniest trace of a grin against his teeth. You’re briefly confused, but then you catch the intellectual sparks in his sockets, and the sudden tapping of his phalanges on the table. He looks absolutely wired, and that’s how you know that he’s just pieced everything together and knows exactly who this girl is. 

The girl you were worried about.

However, Green doesn’t seem worried in the slightest, at least not anymore. It’s a nearly-alarming change from his socially-anxious norm. He sits up straighter and clears his throat. You’re shocked by just how _tall_ he looks now, even in the cafe chair. 

Confidence is… strangely attractive on him? You’re not sure what’s gotten into him so unexpectedly. Whatever inferences he’s made about Lana must be pretty well-grounded. He’s never seemed more sure about anything, at least not since you’ve met him. 

You’re not sure what to do except watch his movements. He moves his hands a lot when he talks, his once-warbling tone now steady. It’s not that Lana doesn’t address you; it’s a three-person conversation that’s lighthearted and easy to keep up with. Class, professors, the weather, it all blurs together. 

It isn’t that you’re bored, either. You’re just… preoccupied, either with watching Green or dwelling on the thought that Lana totally thinks you and G are an _item_. Even if you might’ve been considered that at the time of the party, you took a step back over the weekend. 

He’s so vague. Lovely, but vague. 

One of the baristas calls out, “Lana!” like it’s a song, and as she rises like a blooming Morning Glory in soft periwinkle. 

“What’s got you so smug?” you ask Green as soon as you’re out of earshot. 

He plays coy with a feigned gasp and a covered grin.“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” 

You give him a teasing grin as you tap his hand with yours. “Are you analysing her?”

His smile is sheepish, his cheeks dusted with green. “I can’t help it. I’ve always done it. G always jokes that I was a doctor in another life.” 

“And?” You ask, prompting him with a movement of your hands. 

“Oh! In all honesty, _____, I doubt you have to worry about anything with her. If she had any animosity towards you, I think I would’ve noticed.”

You glance over your left shoulder. Lana’s popped the cap on her coffee and is sprinkling what looks like nutmeg out of one of the shakers up at the counter. You wait for the chick-flick moment where she cuts a glare in your general direction, or the discreet sneer, but there’s nothing of the sort. She simply finishes using a copious amount of nutmeg and puts the lid back on her cup.

“And what’s also good,” Green continues, “is that she doesn’t seem to have any prejudice towards me or G.”

“So about G,” you cut in, voice a desperate whisper, “She thinks he’s my-”

“I’ve noticed. She doesn’t seem jealous, though.”

“You don’t think so?” You ask, quirking an eyebrow up. “She seems to want to talk about him a lot.”

“Well, of course,” Green nods. “He’s a mutual friend. A conversation topic.” 

_A hot conversation topic_ , your mind supplies, and you can’t help but think about what it was like to kiss him on his bed. You hum out something incoherent, noncommittal as your mind goes for a swim. _Magic on your tongue. Hands on your waist like they’re the crook of a guitar._ Headfirst from the diving board, you’re in the deep end.

“You know, you’ll only see that she’s jealous if you look for her to be,” Green chides you, and as you snap back to reality you realize that your typically-timid friend is absolutely correct. 

“Probably,” you reply. “But she’s just so intimidating.” 

You look over at Lana again. It looks like she’s run into someone she knows, gushing and cooing to a blonde like they haven’t talked in months. Her eyelashes are so long they cast shadows on her face when she blinks. Another student walks close and she moves to the side immediately so that they can get by. Then the blonde cracks a joke and Lana’s laughing, laughing til she snorts and her hair shakes with her hunching shoulders. As she moves to cover her mouth she bites down on one of her nails and takes off a scrap of that silver glitter polish.

When you’re done staring, Green sighs, “I truly think that she’s just trying to be friendly. That’s difficult for you, especially since you were clearly expecting something else from her, considering the circumstances. Believe me, dear, I know how terrifying it can be to talk to new people. In fact, I’m terrified by 99% of the strangers I come across. Nevertheless, though, I think it could be worth it to give her a chance. She’s offered her kindness and trust to you. I think you could offer yours to her as well.”

Lana comes back just as the barista calls out, “Order for Green!” 

When the tall skeleton stands to leave, he fixes you with a tight smile.  
“What’d I miss?” Lana asks, plopping back in her chair. She takes a sip from her cup and coughs, “Oof, I did too much nutmeg again.” 

You take a minute to think before saying, “Green and I were just talking about our plans this weekend. On Friday, we and the other skeletons on my dorm floor are going to this karaoke night thing.”

“That sounds fun!” Lana says, “I love karaoke.” 

“Do…” _You already thought about it, that’s why you brought it up, now go for it. Go for it. Go for it._ “...do you want to come with us? We could hang out, and you could meet the rest of the guys if you want?” 

You want to take a breath, in case she turns you down and things get awkward, but you can hardly suck it in before she’s beaming and exclaiming, “Oh my god, sure! That’ll be great! Is that the one they do at the student center?”

“Yeah,” you reply, “I think it starts at 6.” You’re not expecting the rush of warm joy that comes up through your stomach as you flesh out the plans. 

Green returns with your coffee, and he looks pleasantly surprised when you inform him that Lana will be joining your already-massive group on Friday. You know he’s not one for crowds, but nevertheless, he seems so _proud_ of you. You catch his gaze and another rush of warmth goes through your body, but it’s a different kind of joy, something like…

a… crush?

“Do you want me to put my number in your phone?” Lana asks. “It’ll be easier to meet up that way!” 

“Sure,” you say, but when you take out your phone, your eyes go wide. 

It only takes the slightest of glances at your lock screen to see that, since being here at the cafe, your phone has been blown up. One missed call and voicemail from Papyrus, four texts from Blueberry, one text from Red, and a missed call from Edge with no voicemail. You decide to listen to Papyrus’ voicemail first, and make sure the volume is turned down more than it’d usually be. 

_”HELLO _____’S VOICEMAIL! AND HELLO _____! I WAS CALLING TO INFORM YOU THAT MONSTERS NOW HAVE THE RIGHT TO RECEIVE DRIVING PERMITS! ON A COMPLETELY UNRELATED NOTE, HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT TAKING A LEISURELY, ROMANTIC DRIVE TO THE LOCAL DEPARTMENT OF MOTOR VEHICLES TODAY? TELL ME WHEN YOU’RE FREE! ALSO, THIS IS PAPYRUS! BYE!”_

The smile on Green’s skull and Lana’s muted giggles tell you that they heard the voicemail no matter how much you turned it down. 

“He sounds adorable,” Lana comments. 

“Papyrus is super adorable. But he’s also like six feet tall and goes running at 3 a.m. Another cute one is…” Blue’s texts are next, and before you read, you briefly give Lana a glimpse of your conversation and the abundance of caps and blue heart emojis.

_BB Blue: _____ I CAN DRIVE I CAN DRIVE I CAN GET A CAR!!!!!!!!! *car emoji* *blue heart emoji*_

_BB Blue: UPDATE!!!!! I HAVE JUST BEEN INFORMED BY PAPYRUS THAT I CAN ONLY LEARN TO DRIVE!!!!! BUT THE STATEMENT STILL STANDS!!!! AND I WAS WONDERING IF YOU WEREN’T BUSY TODAY!!! BECAUSE THE DMV IS TOO FAR AWAY TO WALK!!!!! AND PAPYRUS ALSO INFORMED ME THAT YOU HAVE A VEHICLE!!!!!!! AND IF YOU WOULD NOT MIND I WOULD LIKE TO ASK A FAVOR!!!!! *several blue heart emojis*_

_BB Blue: WHY HAVEN’T YOU REPLIED WHERE ARE YOUUUUUUUUUUUU_

_BB Blue: *several blue heart emojis*_

“Oh my goodness...” you sigh as you scroll through the conversation. The boy can double-text like hell. You can’t help but smile a little at the added heart emojis, though. Even when he’s pestering you, he’s a cutie.

Next is the text from Red. It’s just been delivered a few minutes ago.

_Red: blue and my bro made me do it. apologies in advance, doll_

Apologies in advance? What does he…  
You hear them before you see them. Edge’s angry warble comes first, unmistakable even coming from far away. Blueberry’s chipper tone is next, and then Papyrus hollers something in response, and then you actually catch sight of the four skeletons walking towards the cafe. 

Red’s the broadest one, walking at the back of the group, but when he sees you he speeds up. Somehow he reaches you before the others do (you think that has something to do with their conversation) and he looks straight-up tired. You didn’t know sockets could have bags. 

“look, doll,” he starts, without even acknowledging Green and Lana, and as he’s talking you realize you haven’t even seen him since you passed out in his arms at the frat party, “i didn’t wanna, but edge knew i could pull your info up and figure out your location, and-”

“You _tracked me_?!” You cut him off, horrified. Green seems to pale at this, and Lana chokes on her coffee. You’re not far from losing your color, either. 

“they’re real adamant about those drivin’ permits…” is all he can say before the other three skeletons reach you.

"_____, WE FINALLY FOUND YOU!" Papyrus greets. "LET'S GO! I HAVE A ROAD TO BE THE KING OF!"

Blueberry wraps both bony arms around one of yours. "WHY DIDN'T YOU ANSWER? I WAS SO WORRIED!"

“IT’S ABOUT FUCKING TIME!” Edge screeches at you, “DON’T YOU KNOW HOW TO ANSWER A PHONE?! DO _NOT_ MAKE ME WORRY AGAIN!” A sharply-angled hand reaches out to grip your shoulder, and something in the back of your mind notes that it’s the first time he’s touched you. Wait, did he touch you when he took you home? He must have, because you had to be carried, and he tucked into bed, and… 

And all these boys are fucking crazy.

“Lana, meet Edge. And Papyrus, and Blueberry, and Red.”

  



	26. Driven Under

  


It’s not exactly a quiet walk to the parking garage. In fact, you’re not sure that most of these skeletons even know the _meaning_ of the word “quiet.” Papyrus, Edge, and Blueberry all seem too keen to talk about getting their driver’s permits. It’s almost like a competition, the way they boast about being some of the first monsters to be able to drive. 

You’d be gushing over their contagious excitement if you weren’t so irked. 

You left the cafe in quite the hurry, barely having time to finish your coffee and say goodbye to Lana and Green before you were dragged out like a misbehaving dog. Your two friends were understanding, and Lana told you she’d see you on Friday for karaoke night. Green only gave a knowing, but tired, nod. You’re sure he’s had more experience dealing with these rambunctious boys than you’ve had.

Meanwhile, Red trudges awkwardly next to you as you lead the way to the car. He’s none too pleased about this situation, either, and he’s made it abundantly clear with his mutered apologies, hunched shoulders, and permanent wince that he feels awful about tracking you. 

“sorry again, babe.” 

All you can do is cut him a sympathetic frown. Your hand grazes his as you walk, and his bony forefinger curls around yours for just a moment. 

“It’s cool.” Yeah, no, this isn’t cool at all. 

You at least wait until you get to your car before turning to the louder boys and saying, “Alright guys, what the fuck was up with all that back there?” 

“WHAT WAS UP WITH WHAT?” Blue asks. He seems to squirm in place, little blue pupils darting about nervously. 

“I think you know,” you reply, “but in case you really don’t, then I’ll lay it all out: You all spammed my phone when I was busy for a short amount of time, and when I wasn’t answering, instead of stopping and waiting like any sane person, you forced Red to _find my location_ and _track me_ without my knowing. Then you proceeded to show up and made me drop what I was doing to do you a favor.” 

“BUT YOU WERE FINISHED WITH YOUR COFFEE,” Blueberry protests. “AND WE WERE READY TO GO!” 

“AND THE DEPARTMENT OF MOTOR VEHICLES CLOSES AT 5!” Edge chimes in. 

Out of the three boys you’re lecturing, Papyrus is the only one who seems to accept what you’ve said. He’s quiet for once, watching Edge and Blue debate with you. 

“I understand that,” you say, “but that still doesn’t make it okay to violate my privacy and then expect me to be okay with taking you out on an errand. You don’t have a monopoly on my time.” 

Blue pipes up again, “B- BUT YOU’RE OUR FRIEND, SO-”

You say it again, slowly, “You don’t have a monopoly on my time.” 

It takes a moment for Blue to take this in, and once he does, he nods, slowly, sadly. Edge doesn’t seem to have any qualms with this, but he’s still scowling, per his typical fashion. This makes it… very difficult to figure out if he’s on the same page or not. 

Papyrus speaks up then, filling the silence with a sigh. His voice is surprisingly quieter than usual. “I’m Sorry, _____. I Know I Get Too Excited Sometimes, And This Is One Of Those Times. I Did Not Think About How You Would Feel In This Situation And That Was, To Be Frank, Absolutely Shitty. I Apologize For Violating Your Privacy And Making You Uncomfortable. I Promise To Do A Better Job Of Thinking About Your Feelings In The Future.” 

You smile at him and take hold of the hand he’s offered to you. “You’re forgiven, Paps.” It’s not until he pulls you into a gentle hug that you jolt, asking, “Wait, did you just curse?” 

“YES.” Oh, he’s back to his normal volume and that’s right in your ear, _ouch_. “I RARELY DO, BUT IT DOES HAPPEN WHEN NECESSARY. I’M NO BABYBONES!” 

He lets go of you and you both laugh, and then you turn your attention to the other boys. Blue still looks incredibly troubled by the confrontation, and Edge is still… angry? Or is he aloof? Thinking about something? This is incredibly hard. 

Blueberry is next to speak up, and when he looks up at you the bright cerulean lights in his eyes are _huge_. “I’M SORRY I STALKED YOU AND MADE YOU UPSET! I’LL TRY TO BE MORE PATIENT IN THE FUTURE! WILL YOU FORGIVE ME TOO?”

“Yes, Blue, you’re forgiven.” You step forward to give the tiny skeleton a pat on the skull, which he absolutely beams at. His smile is so big it could be a cartoon character’s. You’re not sure you could’ve stayed angry with him much longer. 

“AND BECAUSE I FORGOT TO PROPERLY ASK: WOULD YOU MIND DRIVING TO THE DMV SO I CAN GET MY PERMIT? IF YOU DON’T WANT TO, THEN IT’S… YEAH, IT’S OKAY!” 

Now you weren’t expecting that. “Of course I’ll still take you. Thank you for asking.” 

That leaves one more.

Edge doesn’t look like he’s about to speak, so you lean back against your car, propping your elbows on the back end. He’s an intimidating monster, but that certainly doesn’t stop you from staring him straight in the sockets. You can feel your mouth flattening into a straight line. You’re getting that apology out of him, one way or another. 

Red’s next to you, but his attention seems to be focused on your car. You’ve seen him idly pacing around the vehicle as you’ve rounded up apologies. Currently he looks to be engrossed with the wheels, running his big phalanges along the bolts and the tires. It wouldn’t surprise you if he were into mechanics.

“You know,” you say after a moment of silence and staring, “we’re not leaving until I get all the necessary apologies. I’m sorry if that’s an inconvenience, but I refuse to be pushed around. So if we have to stand here until the DMV closes, then so be it.” 

Oh, now _that_ causes the other three skeletons to turn their gazes on Edge. Blueberry looks rather tense, with his eyes wide and his mouth shut. Papyrus slowly lifts both his hands to give two-thumbs-up to Edge. Red is… curious? He certainly doesn’t look like he knows what’s going to happen. It occurs to you then that, considering Edge’s standoffish attitude, maybe no-one’s asked him to apologize before. 

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have it in him, though. The other day when you came to his room to thank him for taking you home, you saw something different than his usual demeanor. You saw him soften, saw him blush. You wouldn’t put it past him to feel remorse. 

“I…” Edge starts, and his scratchy voice seems strained, but you still look up at him with your undivided attention. Papyrus’ encouragement thumbs get more enthusiastic.

“I APOLOGIZE,” Edge snaps, suddenly, and you’re just as surprised as the other boys to hear it. Of course, he tacks on, “THIS DOESN’T MEAN I _LIKE_ YOU OR ANYTHING, SO DON’T FUCKING START WITH THAT. I JUST… PRIDE MYSELF ON BEING NOBLE. WHICH I VOW TO BE IN THE FUTURE.” 

“Thank you, Edge,” you say. You start to fish your car keys out of your purse, but then pause when you turn towards the vehicle and catch sight of the stocky skeleton at your side. 

“We’ll go after Red gets his apologies as well.” 

“WHAT,” Edge exclaims.

“heh, uh, what?” Red mimics, jumping a little. 

“Uh, yeah, you heard me. Blueberry, Edge, you both forced Red to do something he wasn’t comfortable doing. He didn’t want to track me because he knew it wasn’t a good idea, and you made him do it anyway. He deserves an apology too,” You explain, crossing your arms as you lean back. 

This time, Blueberry’s quick to apologize. “OH NO! I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT THAT! RED, I’M SO SORRY!” 

Red merely shrugs. “it‘s a’ight.” 

When you look to Edge, though, he only sneers at you. “WHY IN THE HELL WOULD I NEED TO APOLOGIZE? HE DOES THINGS FOR ME ALL THE TIME. I CERTAINLY DON’T NEED _YOU_ COMING IN AND EXPECTING THINGS TO CHANGE JUST BECAUSE-”

“What, because he’s your brother and you made him uncomfortable? Yeah, sibling dynamic or not, that’s gotta change,” You counter. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt like standing up to Edge like this in the past few weeks of knowing him. The thought of how out-of-sorts Red looked earlier spurs you on. 

You look over at the broad, jacket-clad skeleton who’s still discreetly looking at the car. His eyelights are tinier than normal, and he seems to be… sweating? Well, if that didn’t tell you what you’ve needed to know about his and Edge’s relationship, then you don’t know what will. 

Edge clears his throat, though, and you’re not expecting the defeated huff that comes out of his mouth. “JUST FOR THE RECORD, THIS IS ONLY SO WE CAN GO TO THE-” 

“No,” you interject, “you’re going to give a genuine apology because you know you did something wrong.” 

Another sigh accompanied by an eyeroll. Edge is the poster-child of Rebellious Teenagers everywhere, with the Hot Topic outfit to boot. 

“BROTHER, I APOLOGIZE FOR COERCING YOU INTO A SCHEME. I WILL… TRY TO DO THAT LESS, I SUPPOSE.”

“thanks,” Red says, and his wary eyes tell you that he is so very confused about this whole situation. He’s likely never gotten an apology from his brother in perhaps his entire life. And they are… you forgot how old Red said he was, and if Edge was the older or younger sibling. Are they in the hundreds? You think that was what Red said…

Edge cuts off your thinking by asking, “CAN WE _PLEASE_ GET IN THE FUCKING CAR NOW?” 

Well, he said please. 

It’s not until you pull into the parking lot of the DMV that you realize just how packed it is. You don’t know _why_ it hadn’t occurred to you before now that it would be crowded today, considering today is the first day the monster population can get their permits. The line snakes out the door of the testing room and lines the hallway leading to the main door of the building. You think you see the little stars in Blueberry’s eyes shrink when he sees all the monsters and humans that have a turn before your group does. 

Nevertheless, though, you agreed to drive the boys here, and you’ll be damned if you turn around after all this nonsense that’s occurred for you to get here. You take four numbers up at the front counter and grab a few study pamphlets for the boys on the way back.

“I DON’T NEED TO STUDY,” Edge snorts, “I’LL IMPRESS THEM WITH MY PROWESS AND MASTERFUL KNOWLEDGE OF THE ROAD.” 

You only nod and remind yourself to steer clear of the roads the day Edge gets his actual license. Papyrus takes a pamphlet, saying something about “brushing up on things one more time.” You remember how excited he’s been at the prospect of driving, and wonder how much he’s studied. Blueberry takes one as well, but like his brother, Red also refuses. 

“i think i got this, dolly. just common logic,” the latter says as you plop down next to him. You actually believe him. 

The wait is, as predicted, agonizingly long. It’s easier to pass the time when you’re chatting with Papyrus and Blueberry, but after a while, you grow tired of answering their questions about driving. Yes, it’s much easier now than it was at first. No, you hardly have to use your horn. No, the car does not come free with the license. Edge snorts at the last one. 

You debate getting your earbuds out of your purse, but you don’t want to be rude. You could always give one to Red, but… wait, they don’t have ears. That probably wouldn’t work. Or would it? Skeletons are confusing. 

You move up in the astronomically long line every few minutes, and that keeps you from falling asleep. There is _one_ tiny stretch of time, though, where a hard-of-hearing rabbit monster has her turn at the test, and you end up dozing off a tad. You didn’t think you’d be able to, with the fluorescent lighting and the noise, but one second your vision is greying and the next you’re pressed against something warm and fluffy. 

Upon further inspection, you find that it’s Red’s hood. _Oh._ This is the second time you’ve fallen asleep on him, if you count passing out on him at the Theta Chi party. Embarrassed, you start to sit up, but a large, bony hand presses against your other cheek. 

“it’s a’ight, babe,” Red murmurs, “go on ta sleep if ya want. i’ll wake ya up if we need to move.” 

You hum out an “mhm,” and doze again, wondering when you started feeling so comfortable around the big skeleton. 

However, you don’t think you’re out for longer than thirty seconds before you hear Papyrus say, “SHE LOOKS SO PEACEFUL!” 

By the time you pick your head up, it’s time to move up in the line. And so goes the monotony. 

It’s 3 p.m. by the time Edge’s number is called. The tall, sharply-angled skeleton stands up straight, rights himself, and smooths down his clothes before turning to face your group.

“I’D TELL YOU TO WISH ME LUCK, BUT LUCK HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT! I’LL BE SEEING YOU IN FIVE MINUTES, PEONS!” He doesn’t even let you get a word in before about-facing and marching into the testing room. His energy is ridiculous, yet admirable. 

God, you need another coffee. You debate running to get one, as there’s a cafe down the road and you’re just here to stand in line with the skeletons, but you’d rather not chance it. After all, what if something happens with one of the boys? 

Five minutes later, you swear you’ve jinxed yourself. From inside the testing room, there’s something that could be described as a “commotion,” if the descriptor liked to understate things. From the yelling and the slamming, you can tell that Edge is the cause of this… ruckus. The words are muffled, but you definitely hear his grating voice, and the personality that always accompanies it. 

Not a moment later, the door flings open, and he storms out, driver’s pamphlet clenched in his hand. You make the conclusion that the DMV employee gave it to him, which only means…

“I DEMAND A RE-TEST! IT’S RIGGED, _YOU’RE_ RIGGED, THE WHOLE FUCKING THING IS A COCKTAIL OF FESTERING CHEATS!” Edge is turned in the doorway, screaming at the attendant. You try not to flinch too badly at what he’s saying. “FRANKLY, YOU CAN TAKE THIS BULLSHIT PAMPHLET AND SHOVE IT INTO YOUR ORIFICE OF CHOICE!” 

And there goes the pamphlet. Before the employee can get a word in, Edge slams the door shut and stomps over to your group. He slams his body down into the spot Papyrus leaves when his number is called. All you can do is look on and hope this one goes better than the last. 

It’s quiet in the testing room, and while you wait on Papyrus’ results you debate comforting Edge over what seems to be a devastating failure. His expression is scrunched, and he won’t stop mumbling to himself. You’re not close enough to hear word-for-word, but Blueberry’s concerned gaze tells you that it’s nothing good. Even the tiniest, bubbliest skeleton knows not to touch Edge when he’s angry, though, and your group silently resolves to leave him alone. 

When Papyrus emerges ten minutes later with a stack of papers and a tiny paper permit, you can’t help but spring up to share his excitement with him.

“You did it!” You exclaim, “Holy shit, Paps, you got it! Congrats!”

“I KNEW I HAD IT IN ME!” He cheers. “THE LADY TOLD ME I ALMOST GOT A PERFECT SCORE!” 

“Damn right you did!” You give him a high-five before you both sit down and let Blue take his turn. 

While you’re waiting on Blueberry, you let Papyrus show you his permit. He’s proud to show it off, and his photo looks quite heroic. 

“YOU KNOW,” He tells you, “WHEN WE WERE UNDERGROUND, I ALWAYS DREAMT OF THIS. OF BEING ABLE TO DRIVE.”

“And now you can!” You say. 

“AND NOW I FINALLY CAN. _____, THIS MEANS SO MUCH TO ME. REALLY AND TRULY. IT’S QUITE LITERALLY A DREAM COME TRUE. THANK YOU FOR TAKING ME TO DO THIS.” 

You only smile at him and will yourself not to get emotional in the DMV. Don’t get emotional, don’t get emotional… 

You don’t get emotional, because Blueberry emerges from the room and saves the day. “I DID IT!” He announces, bouncing up and down. “I CAN DRIVE!”

Red interjects, “i’m pretty sure you gotta reach the pedals to drive.” 

“HEY!” The tiny skeleton pouts up at Red, crossing his arms as well. It’s… not very intimidating at all. In fact, it’s rather adorable. That adorable precious baby just got his driver’s permit. 

“just fuckin’ with ya, blue,” he grins, and then stands as the clerk calls his number. 

“Good luck,” you tell him. 

“eh, it’s like my bro said. luck ain’t shit. hope these three don’t _drive_ ya nuts out here,” Red replies, and you’re almost sorry you don’t catch the pun until he’s gone. 

While Papyrus and Blueberry chatter excitedly to each other, you take the time to look over at Edge. His grimace is still ever-present, though the muttering has stopped. He stares at the ground, sockets narrowed sharply. You think about how confident he was going into the permit exam and can’t help but feel for him. You know you’ve had a few times where you’ve overestimated your own performance. 

You snag the leftover driver’s pamphlet from Papyrus and scoot closer to the sulking skeleton. There’s no effort to touch him, or to comfort him, really. Something tells you he wouldn’t take too kindly to such an attempt. 

So you simply hand Edge the pamphlet and whisper, “If you actually read this, I’ll take you back next week.” 

He doesn’t say a word, but he takes the pamphlet, and you think you see his eyes soften a bit. However, he definitely cracks a smile when Red emerges from the testing room a mere four minutes after walking in, permit in hand. 

“How’d it go?” You ask Red, quietly. Your group is getting up to leave and, like on the walk to the car earlier, you’re lingering with him.

“perfect hundred,” he whispers, “but don’t tell papyrus.” 

You’re walking into the parking lot with the boys when Papyrus asks, “CAN I DRIVE HOME?” 

You glance from your car, to him, and then back to your car. He looks so excited, with his eyes sockets so wide and his smile just as big, and he _did_ just earn his license. To further gauge things, you look over to the others. Red’s shrugging, Blueberry is jumping and cheering for Papyrus despite the fact you haven’t even told him “yes” yet, and Edge… well, Edge still looks angry, but you figured as much.

_He did earn it_ , your brain repeats. _He got a near-perfect score._

“Oh, what the hell, sure,” you say, “Just make sure t-”

“WOWIE!” Aaaand he’s taken off running. You still have your insurance app on your phone, right? 

Gaster recalls that he had decided his last sip of scotch would be five sips ago. Nevertheless, here he is, propped against the cheap laminate dorm counter with his phalanges still wrapped around a glass that Dings bought on sale. 

He should have already left by now, should be already down the hallway and knocking on Wings’ door. The tall skeleton would typically never even humor the idea of interacting with that… warped other version of himself, but what choice does he have? 

When he took on the offer to live at the university with the rest of the skeletons, he took on the responsibility of managing each and every one of them. Given, some of them can manage themselves (he applauds Dings, Green, and G in particular), but on the day-to-day he is more or less _babysitting_. Is this what his life has become?

Ice cubes hit Gaster’s face. He’s at the end of his drink and has a creature derived straight from Tartarus to check on. 

It’s always baffled him, since meeting all the alternate counterparts, how someone like him- no, _him_ \- could become something like Wings. His morality is warped, too warped for Gaster to be comfortable just letting run loose. While he isn’t one to nitpick on appearance (and how _could_ he, considering his own face) he shudders at the severity of the scars and cracks on Wings’ bones. He can’t even begin to contemplate what brand of hell wrought that hole in his counterpart’s skull, and he’ll never dare to ask. 

The end of the hall is quiet, as always. A firm rap on the door should suffice; until then, Gaster clenches his hands into the most polite fists he can manage. 

Of course, the door opens mere moments after he knocks, and he’s standing face-to-face with a sickening likeness of himself dressed in red. 

“Well, hello.” Wings smiles, but the grin doesn’t reach the lights in his sockets. No, those are still cold, still scanning up and down Gaster’s stiff form. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“This is nothing more than a welfare check. If you will, please let me in so that I can take stock of any grocery needs.” 

“Very well, _Doctor Gaster_.” Wings steps to the side, allowing entry into his room, but as Gaster walks in he doesn’t miss that condescending tone, nor the sneer crossing his scarred mouth. The skeleton half-expects some poor soul to be tied to one of the chairs in the middle of the room, but of course, there isn’t. 

After looking over his shoulder, Gaster decides that he should at least pretend to look through Wings’ food supply. There’s plenty of tea in the cabinet, and sugar, and…

“You know,” Wings says from behind him, “in another reality, _I’d_ be the one to keep my name. It’s mere luck, you know, that _you’re_ the “original” here. Things really could have turned out _quite_ differently.” 

Gaster barely turns his head, only enough to eye his counterpart. “What are you getting at?”

“Nothing in particular, really. It’s just a refreshing reminder to have, one that we truly are even.” He hums it nonchalantly, but Gaster hears whispers of a threat between the monster’s teeth. Those teeth are sharp, sharper than the mere canine fangs _he_ has.

Gaster prods, “Even?” 

He opens the refrigerator next, but barely examines the contents. Chilled wine, lots of meat, a stray peach. He doesn’t recall buying peaches, nor Riesling. The idea that the others went shopping last week is highly doubtful. God forbid they do anything productive. 

_So he’s been out on his own._ That does nothing to calm Gaster’s irate nerves. He hardly wants to imagine Wings prowling about in public on his own, with everyone around him at risk of whatever it is the monster decides to do. 

“Are you listening to me, Gaster, or are you too preoccupied with psychoanalysing me via my refrigerator?” Wings’ voice makes Gaster turn his head back. When he fixes him with an arched socket, Wings only continues speaking with that cold smile on his skull. “Tch, you aren’t fooling a soul with your false pretenses. Remember, I am _you _, and you are _me_. I’d suggest having some sympathy, rather than constantly vilifying me, as you’re always so eager to do.”__

____

“Isn’t there some human saying, something about ‘sympathy for the devil?’ Allow me some research, and I will-” 

__

Wings strides forward, slams the refrigerator shut, and cuts him off with a snarl. “You elitist buffoon. Are you really so pretentious to think that you’re my better, in any form? I’ve told you, stated _a thousand times over_ : You and I are the same. You cannot call me a terror without calling yourself one as well. You are _not_ higher than I am, nor are you kinder, smarter, or more powerful. Whatever illusion you may be under that tells you that you are is utterly _foolish_.” 

__

He’s practically spitting the words out, possessing a venom Gaster can only balk at. 

__

“You may have the upper hand in this world, you may have the privilege of going by your own name for the rest of your life, and you may have better social standings, but all of that is the result of luck and luck _only_. It’s time you come to terms with the fact that you and I are pure, utter _equals_ , in every way that chance cannot get hold of. You may have claws, Doctor Gaster, but so do I, and mine are _just_ as long, and _just_ as sharp as yours. I would suggest putting yours down, unless you want a horrible, _nasty_ scratch.” 

__

When Gaster can finally speak, he blankly says, “You’re threatening me.” 

__

“Well, I’m certainly not inviting you to dinner,” His counterpart retorts. 

__

“As if anyone would want to have dinner with you,” Gaster remarks. 

__

Wings looks like he is about to say something, but merely closes his jaws and smiles. It’s an unsettling smile, and it’s even more so when coupled with the fact that Wings isn’t doing _anything else at all_. 

__

Gaster takes that as his cue to leave. He gathers himself, straightens his turtleneck, and gives his doppelganger a nod. “I’ll be taking my leave now. Do mind yourself, and speak with me if you need anything.” 

__

Wings clears his throat and says, “I live a miserable life underground, make it to the surface by mere chance, and I’m immediately confined to a low-budget room by a man who looks just like me while my counterparts may finally embrace freedom. C’est la vie, W.D. Gaster. Enjoy our name, and enjoy the sunshine.” 

__

Gaster only curls his mouth up in a sneer. “You don’t fool me, you know, and _you_ can enjoy _rotting_ in here with that Soul of yours.” With that, he turns and makes his way for the door. It opens without a hitch, and he sends himself through it. 

__

As he’s walking down the hall, he hears from behind him, “Mind the claws, Doctor.” 

_  
_


End file.
